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Manufacluras^ ^'C. 


Vol. II. 

July 1, 1810. 

N^ VII. 


1. A Gothic Conserv\toky . . . . . 

2. The New Custom-House, London 

3. Ladies' Opeka Dkess . . . . . 

4. MoKMNG Dkess . . . . . 

5. Saloon Duapirie^ ...... 

(i. Pattern fori Needle-Wouk. 







Architerfnral Hints — iiesi'i'iptioi) of a 
(jolliic ('oiis-f. valoi y 

Arcliiti ctiniil Kevuv. — Tlie Nc« Billi 
lein Hospital 

Exliib.tiuii uf !M(>iiiiiiiciitul Modei.i at ibc 
British Institution 

Clirouo'o.; leal Survey of the most en>in('iit 
All, sis lo ihc* Co i.iiioiK-cnietil oi (he 
.*«ixtei-iii}i ( (.-iitury 


Domestic I'locesses tor djiinir V, ooll« n, 
Silk,, am! otlur StufT-, ;i per- 
manent Vi-llow, Rid, Criiiisim, Blue, 
Blown, I}i:H, N;iiiki.eii, untl Fh\ui Co- 

Easy iMelliod of cxainininy the Niituie of 
.Marls, So as to a^<eit;iiii theil agi.cnl- 
tiirai VaiiH.' 

Pieservation of Water 

Method of as( erlamiii", hy Chemical 
IMeans, wlif-ther a I. line or Limestone 
be fit or unfit for tlie Hnrjioses of Agri- 

New Method of "itaining Wood a perinri- 
nent Black Colour 


Anecdotes of the Ahbt de lialiviere . . 
Anecdotes of the Marquis Carraccioii 


Extr;iordin:iry Petition of Viscount D'En- 

Familiarity of the SwalluM' 

Historv of Susan Strive well 

The Unknown Benefactor 

Utsniptioii of the New Custom- House 

The Fern lie Tattler —No VII . . . 

Some Pai licnlais illustrative of the Cha- 
r^ictir of Prince Leojiold of Saxe-Co- 

Cramer's celebrated Air "Love has Eyes" 



22 I 
ib I 


Mazzivghis Istrian Air 

'i he Harmonic .M iscellany 

Kl. sl s Com iship Daiit'cof the Russian 


.'^ir.loHN SrEVEN>o\*s Vuli-ntiucS Day 
L.>Ii)l \'s " Ah I «hy did 1 gallic r tins de- 

licaie Flower" .... . . . 

Kl A M.MARK'S " Fare thee well" . . . 
\ViiiTAKi:i:'s " Fare iliee well" . . . 

.^^ola's '* Fare thee well" 

CIjMViIns' " In talr.i, in soolhio;^ Plea- 


Addisox's" Deare<;t Rllen" . . . . 
KlAinALi LT's Voluiitiuy lor the Oiif III .'s What l.o' What ho 1 . ." . . 
Kli'i^f.'s The Lay of the \\aiiderer . 
Ho>» ell's Practical Inslruclions (or the 

P. alio- Forte 

.Auxiliary Lessons .... 

l5uTT(>>l Li v"s Diciioiiaiv of Vlu'^ic . . 
Villi. 1 's The Tank, or Uubsiaii D;i..ce 
.\lii!>ical intelligence 











Exhibition of the Britisli Institution 


Manners of the Modern Greeks 
Hunting the GiruH'e 


Ladies' Opera Dress jj 

— — Mornins Dr; ss ib. 

General Observatious on Fashions and 

Lress r,3 

Frenih Female Fashioiss 5-, 

F&shionable Furniture. --Saloon Draperies 5s 




Love, translated from the Sjianish . . 60 

Hymn to \'euus 6I 

Love ib. 

Lines inscribed to Mot her ^Lary Helen npon 

her Half Jubilee 6^ 

Apostrophe to tbe Primrose .... 16. 

L Harrison, Printer, 3/3, Strand. 


Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are leqvested to transmit 
announceinenls of ivorks which tiiey may have in hand, and we shall cheerjuilj/ tnscit 
them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense, iSeiv musical pnblicutiorts also, if 
a copy be addressed to the publisher, shall be duly noticed in our Heview; and extracts 
front, new books, of a vioderate length and of an interesting nature, suitable for our 
Selections, will be acceptable. 1 lo vt/.'.-;?. dh.Y 

Stella will perceive, thai we have attended to her wishes, -ry 3(ji oi babba risaf*^ 
We beg leave to refer X. Y. Z. to an article under the head 'of Literary Intelll' 
gence. In a77swer to his question respecting Moris. Le Thiere, wc have to stute^ ihat 
this artist is President of the French xVcademy at Rome. , 

The Extracts /ront The Rival Roses and, The A^naJ ls]e&^§hiiil,be ^^iven iftou^: 
Solomon Sapient's letter and Humaniiy RewarcTeJ sndll have an^eariy pthce. 

Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every Montli as 
published, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to JNew York, Halifax, Quebec, apd 
to any part of the West Indies, at i.4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Thornhill, or the ^iencrai 
Post-Otiice, at 1^0. '21, Sherborne. Lane ; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, ISlalta, or 
any Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 iJs. j)er Annum, by Mr. Seuje.'VNT, ot the (jeneral 
Post-Office, at No. 2'i, Sherborne- lane ; and to the Cape of Good Ho|ie, or ai.y part of the 
i:ast Indies, by Mr. Guy, at tlie East-India House. The money to be paid at iitv tin»e «f 
subscribing, for either 3, 6, Q, or 1 2 months. 

) si i'l ^ngiaab ail: 
oijibbs sotbI b •^mu: 

> Tsd i^ljfr.oijpsiii 

,.11 n v'j'>n(j'*?fxf'. ■ 















Manufactures^ S^c. 


Vol. 11, 

July 1, 181(i 

^^ VII. 




The study of botany lias long 
been atUled to tlie catalogue of rural 
amusements, and it has jirovided 
an embellishment of the most agree- 
able kind to the garden and also to 
the mansion ; for instead of being, 
as originally, in a removed situ- 
ation, the conservatory is now 
placed in connection with the house 
itself, with which it elegantly com- 
bines, and gives an apartment high- 
Jy valuable from its beauty and 
cheerfulness. When the conser- 
vatory is included in the arrange- 
ment of the house on the first for- 
mation of the design, it is capable 
of afl'ording a large addition to its 
architectural beauty; and when it 
is joined to it as an apjiendage, it 
frequently becomes so, though in 
a less degree perhaps, unless cir- 
cumstances are very favourable, as 
great judgment is required to con- 
nect it with the building so as to 
display its proposed lorms without 
injury to those ol the mansion itself ; 
from which, indeed, it ought to 
receive its character, and of which 
jt should assume to be a part; for, 
Pol. 11. No. f II. 

however agreeable variety may be, 
incongruity is always fatal to its 
charms with every well cultivated 
and tasteful mind. Habit perhaps 
has lessened the impression wJiich 
a conservatory makes upon us vvlien 
formed without reference to the 
, edilice to which it is attached; for 
j at first being merely a green-bouse 
placed against the building, which 
became gradually increased to 
architectural pretension in form, 
the violence that has since been 
done to fitness by strange mixtures 
of style, has been too much disre- 

The conservatory is distinouish- 
ed from the green-house by the 
circumstance of its affording pro- 
tection only to the plants; whereas 
the latter is used for rearing them, 
and it has become an apartment iti 
which they are arranged for dis- 
play, merely allowing space for 
walks or a promenade, and is fre- 
quently used as a breakfast or morn- 
ing room. ^V'hen separated from 
the house, it forms a rural temple, 
or elegant central building; when 



joined to it, it should combine with 
the breakfast or mornine^ sitting:- 
room, to which it is properly ap- 
pHcable, botli as it rehites to the 
time of clay in which these vooins 
are in coiinnon use, and to the cheer- 
fulness and health which plants 
afford at those times. It is attached 
occasionally, but iuiproperly, to 
tlie dining and drawing-roonis ; he- 
cause, as is well known, plants ab- 
sorb in the evening a lar^je portion 
of that quality of vital air that is 
essential to human existence, which 
in the day-time, and particularly 
in the morning, it assists to supply. 
Plants, like animals, consume a 
large portion of oxygen, and if 
this be denied to them, they wither 
and die. Preparator}- to some al- 
terations of a conservatory a short 
time since, the plants were remov- 
ed into other apartujents, and it 
being winter and the weather se- 
vere, fires of charcoal were made 
at night, and placed amongst them 
in braziers. As the proprietor 
was not aware of the effects of 
charcoal on atmospheric air, he or- 
dered the doors to be closed, in- 
tending that the plants should be- 
nefit the more by these fires : but 
as a due proportion of fresh air was 
not supplied, in the morning they 
were found to have suffered, as it is 
possible animals so circumstanced 
would also have suffered. The most 
tender were quite dead, some lin- 
gered a short time and died, and only 
a few of the strongest survived ; but 
they have not yet recovered their 
iormer vigour, alth.ough this is the 
second spring since the circum- 
stance took place. 

The conservator}- rej)resented 
in the annexed plate is designed 
agreeably to the Gothic style, and 

is suited therefore to buildings of 
the same or of a castle character. 
The ground-plan is divided into 
three compartments : that attached 
to the house forms the entrance. 
l'he,centre would receive the high- 
est stages for the plants, and it 
would be covered with a roof of 
glass. Small aviaries might bemade 
on each side of the third space, 
which would complete the avenue 
formed from the entrance of the 
apartments of the house. The in- 
terior framing of the centre pan 
might be constructed upon the same 
principle with the open timber 
roofs of some of our ancient ba- 
ronial halls and churches, which, 
springing from slender pillars, 
would ramify with great elegance, 
combine with the grouping of 
the plants, and very properly har- 
monize with them ; for their forms 
are so like those of rows of trees 
uniting their branches, that it has 
not been unaptly imagined, that 
avenues of trees gave the first idea 
not only of the pointed arch, but 
of the groins and vaultings that 
since decorated our beautiful Go- 
thic cathedrals. The close-grain- 
ed ceilings of the extreme conri- 
partments would give force and 
variety to this arrangement, which 
would have a very novel and orna- 
mental effect. 

The glass of the centre part to 
the south is intended to be removed 
at certain seasons of the year, and 
the whole is surrounded by a low 
stone terrace, approached by two 
steps, and terminated by smaW jets 
(l\ait. This platform would be an 
agreeable promenade, particularly 
if plants and flowers were taste- 
fully arranged in groups, forming its 
surface into a diversified parterre. 


Tills building may he executed 
in stone, brick covered with stucc o, 
or wood-framing and brick-work 
mixed, the iVuniiiig being first lath- 
ed, or the panels being filled up 
M-iilibrick-uogging, and thesnrf^ce 
of the timbers covered bv tiles, 
which, if the brick-work is allowed 
to project an inch before the lim- 
ber:3, makes a good foundation for 
istucco. This composition wny be 
made of Roman cement, unless 
where lathing is used, and then it 
may be covered by any of those 
stuccoes that arc cliirfly composed 
of lime and sand, provided the tops 
of the walls are well protected from 
wet. In this case the Iloman ce- 
jTjcnbis not applicable; it needs a 
fjr,nH?r."' ffround-work than lathinir 
aflurds to it, and it very soon cracks 
and l)ecomes disengaged from the 
tie it at first received by means of 
the interstices hetu'een the latlis. 
The Roman cement, when used 
upon brick-work, forms a durable 
composition: it is prepared from 
u stone not uncommon in several 
parts of the kingdom, but not usu- 
ally found in quantities sufficient 
for the consumption of a building. 
This is calcined and reduced to a 
fine powder; it is then mixed, in 
small quantities at a time, with 
clean sharp sand and water; and it 
requires some dexterity to work, 
as it sets, as itis technically termed, 

I in a way similar to plaster of Paris. 
A noti(jn has obtained very gene- 
■ rally amongst country working 
1 people, whether masons, bricklay- 
] ers, or jilasterers, that the Roman 
i| cemetit may be very properly and 
jl usefully mixed with liine for stucco, 
or with mortar for common pur- 
poses ; and lime is frequently add- 
ed by them to the cement, to make 
it "go farther;" that is, to make 
a certain quantity at a less expense 
than if cement and sand only were 
used. These practices are fatal to 
the intention; the cement is de- 
stroyed by any mixture of lime, 
and when used with it for a stucco, 
it will remain on the walls but a 
very short time. 

If compositions or stuccoes arc 
formed with good stone iime and 
clean sharp sand in several degrees 
of granulation, mixed with a small 
quantity of water, and well beaten 
together, instead of using a large 
quantity of water to save this la- 
bour, a very excellent stucco is 
produced, of a near resemblance 
to Portland stone, which is a com- 
pound of a due proportion of car- 
bonateof lime, silex, and akin^ine. 
The stucco should be made as long 
as convenient before it is nsed, and 
time will give it considerable hard- 
ness, provided it is well covered on 
the top of the walls. 

No. VI. 


Eovv subjects liave lately arisen ]i those charitable purposes for which 
so interesting to humanity as that i this hospital was instituted. The 
now before parliament and the pub- ; same spirit of benevolence that 
lie, relating to thie execution of |; formed this noble establishment, is 

B 2 



now aniiiiatinpj the bosoms of thou- i 
sands, who, touched with the mi- | 
sery of so large a portion of their 
fellow-creatures, wait anxiously to 
see a well controuled performance 
of those duties winch are essential 
to the comfort and recovery of the 
patient, and so correspondent with 
the British characitr. This insti- 
tution commenced in the year 1-247, 
as a religious order who received 
and attended to the care and cure of 
lunatics. In 1545 Henry VIII. be- 
stowed it on the city of Loudon; 
and in 1675 the lord mayor and 
aldermen began the building in 
Moorfields that has lately been tak- 
en dovvn. It was said to have been 
designed after the Tuilleries at 
Paris, and that Louis XIV. was so 
incensed that his palace should be- 
come a model for a lunatic hospital, 
that he retaliated the supposed dis- 
grace by an unworthy appropria- 
tion of the form of our palace of 
St. James's. The hospital was 
erected, with a zeal truly adinira- 
ble, in the sho_rt space of fifteen 
months, at the expense of seven- 
teen thousand pounds, at that time 
a verv large sum ; and in 1734 two 
wings were added, for the reception 
of incurables. The centre of the 
building and the original wings 
were terminated by turrets or small 
spires, and, with others, weredoubt- 
lessly in the recollection of our 
great orator when he uttered the 
well known defence of the morals 
of this metropolis, urging that, 
however much the foibles and frail- 
ties of human nature must subject 
it to the awful justice of an Al- 
mighty Power, yet the charitable 
establishments abounding in every 
quarter of the town, raised their 
spires to heaven in successful sup- 

plication, that the}' might be re- 
ceived in extenuation for many 
«*ins, and that they had eventually 
brought down upon the country 
at large peculiar blessings of its 
bounty. '- 

At the erection of tliis building 
the property without the city walls 
was open and in fields, since which 
time the increase of London and a 
spirit for improvement have forrned 
several considerable streets about 
it, and also Finsbury-square : the 
ground therefore becoming of i>rt^at 
value, the building not aHTording 
the accommodation required, and 
needing vast repairs, it was judged 
expedient to obtain other ground, 
and to erect a hospital more suited 
to th.e objects of tiie institution. 
The present structure is an im- 
mense pile of building, capalile of 
affordinij every accommodation for 
the patients and officers of the es- 
tablishment, with the advantage of 
healthful air, and space for exer- 
cise and recreation, which undoubt- 
edly the former should be allowed 
to receive at proper seasons. i3rTn> 

The new Bethleni is situated riilar 
Durham Place, in St. George's 
Fields, and occupies the site that 
a feAV years ago was (celebrated as a 
house of public amusement, hut 
of profligate reputation, called (he 
Dog and Duck: and it might be a 
lesson to the dissolute, were they to 
reflect in liow short a space of time 
this spot has changed its character, 
and from the resort of the thought"- 
less, appropriated to riot and dis- 
sipation, it has become the refuge of 
objects claiming our deepest com- 
miseration, awfully afflicted witii 
the most dreadful calamity incident 
to human nature! This edifice 
consists of a centre embellished 


by a portico of the Grecian Ionic 
order, surmounted by an attic and 
dome, from wliich the l)nil(liniij ex- 
tends on each side; and its front 
elevation is com[)leted by wings, 
which have corrcspondin<; buihi- 
ings behind them, and whicli form 
the sides of the hospital : these in- 
sulated huildings may l)e repeated 
to any extent that future occasion 
may demand. A front court- yard 
or garden separates the building 
from the road; this is inclosed by 
nhaiidsome wall, and, immediately 
before the l)uiUling, by a lofty iron 
railing and g:ites, to whicii there 
are small lodges. The approach 
is bv a spacious gravel road, and 
the portico is ascended b}^ steps. 

The plan and arrangement of the 
building reflect great credit on the 
architect, who is certnitdy well ac- 
quainted with all the requisites of 
an institution of this nature. The 
separation of the sexes and of alt 
the classes is well provided lor. 
The building is judiciouslv dispos- 
ed for ventilation, and the mode of 
construction is well a(,laptcd to du- 
rability, and to prevent extensive 
injury in case of accidents bv fire. 
A priiicipleforvvarii)ing the apart- 
ments by steam is applied, but is 
yet perhaps in its infancy, and ad- 
mits much improvement, as well as 
a more extensive application in 
this building than it has obtained 
at present. Free and rapid venti- 
lation, and a generallv diffused 
warnjth, are so essential to every 
building where great numbers of 
persons are accommodated, that 
too much pains cannot be bestowed 
upon the means which so well pro- 
mise to eHect them : but it is to be 
regretted, that there are not averv 
considerable number of flttes, in 

substitution of chimnev flues, for 
ventilation, connected with the pa- 
tients' rooms, as it is well known 
that no superior means have yet 
been devised than they afford, if 
properly disposed, either at the 
top or bottom of the apartments. 
On the exterior great care has b(»^{i 
taken to conceal the shafts of the 
chimnies, and in general with suc- 
cess,- but these flues might have 
existed without injury to the tit^ 
chitectural de^itrn. 

Although this building, hy its 
magnitude and symmetrv, presents 
a noble appearance, yet there is 
evidently a total want of ]-)ropor- 
tion in the parts, occasioned, it 
should seem, in a great degi'ee bv 
a deficiency of material to forni 
them, that marks a ri^id e>-onotnv 
in regard to its architectural detail. 
The entablature of the portico is 
small, and the cornices of the re- 
mainder of the building scarcely 
deserve that itanie, beiiVg of vef^ 
abridged projections, and in nearlv 
equal portions of brick and stone; 
and the string courses and window 
dressings are too narrow and poor 
to assimilate with a portico of such 
magnitude and so great pretci>sion 
to architectural respectability. To 
a great sacrifice of architectural 
embellishment for the better ob- 
jects of the institution all would 
readily submit, if there existed a 
necessity for such a curtailment^ 
arising from too liinited mcari<-; 
but as this is not expressed, the 
dcficiencv is mnrfi to be ri>gretted^ 
particularly as an cxct llent oppor- 
tunity has been lost of making this 
otherwise noble building a fineeX'* 
ample of British architecture. ^ ^ 

Amongst the features of nfebi- 
tecturc perhaps there are none Sd 



expressl}' beautiful and simple, af- 
fording at the same time so great a 
variety of incident, as tlie por- 
tico; but a great portion of its charm 
is lost whenever it is placed on the 
north front of a building, as in this 
case it is, and also at the India 
House, the Surgeons' Hall, and 
several other of our public build- 
ings: in this situation it gives a 

weight and gloom to the effect, ra- 
ther than that brilliant and cheer- 
ful character uiiicb it inspire;s 
whenever placed at a southern, an 
eastern, or western aspect. The 
iron railing in thefrontis handsome, 
but the gates are injured by the 
sort of Catherine-wheel device with 
which the chief panels are orna- 


that spirit and heroism whieh anii- 
mated the breasts of our soldier* ; 
some g-enius that could strike, off at 

For the purpose of carrying into 
effect the several votes of parlia- 
ment, directing the erection of 

public monuments to commemo- li one heat in the forge of fancy a 
rate the services of those illustrious 
heroes who fell in battle during the 
late war, an order w-as lately issued 
by government, in obedience of 
which one hundred and four sketches 
were transmitted to the British 
Institution last month, for the 
consideration of the coauiiittee ap- 
pointed to make a selection. 

The principal works were for 
Generals PicTON, PoNSONBY, Hay, 
Gillespie, Skerritt, Goue, 
PACKENHAMjandGiBBS; and among 
the contributors were several of our 
mosteminent sculp tors, viz. Messrs. 
Chantrey, Westmacott, Bacon, 
Bossi, Bailey, &c. &c. Some of 
those artists furnished sketches for 
all the monuments, others only 
produced three or ibur, but none 
limited their contributions to a 
smaller number than two. 

The splendour of the achieve- 
ments of those renowned warriors 
had excited a strong expectation 
throughout the country, that some 
bold and original minds would start 
forth among our sculptors, capable 
of infusins: into the marble some of 

glowing portraiture of great j)er»- 
sonal exploit, or of general vic- 
tory. High hopes are, however, 
commonly succeeded l)y the an- 
guish of bitter disappointment. Of 
tile numerous designs exhibited, 
there are few calculated to excite 
admiration. Fame, as usual, writlies 
her shape, with her wreath and 
trumpet, through more than fifty 
designs; Hercules brandishes his 
club in vain through fifty more; 
Britannia sat the miildle occupant 
of a pedestal through a score or 
two ; there were also naked gene- 
rals and armed cuirassiers without 
number, and allegories of doubtful 
meaning. Amid this general va- 
riety, it was pleasing to dwell upon 
some designs that were eminently 
The Design for General P/'<:lafj''s 

Monument , hy Mr. Chantrey, 
would have been a glorious record 
of tliat hero, had it so pleased the 
committee. The gallant and la- 
mented general w;s represented 
falling victorious ami<^ a carnatjeof 
guards and cuirassiers ; lie had 


niade his last desperate and suc- 
cessful effort, and was sinking with 
a glowing consciousness of victory 
that informed his whole frame. 
His personification reminded us of 
the death of the poet's hero : 

" With dying liaiul above his hca<l, 
He waved the fruijnK'iit of his blade, 
Aud shoulid — victory." 

Thesaine artist hail other designs 
of equal hcautv. The statue for 
General Ilav, with its representa- 
tion in has-rclief of the battle of 
Bayonne, where the general closed 
his career, was conceived in a mas- 
terly manner. The monument lor 
the gallant Ponsonhy was of no 
ordinar}- beauty. Victory was re- 
presented elevating a troi)hy to the 
admiration of mankind, torn from 
the hrow of Fame, who lay pros- 
trate beneath her feet by the va- 
lour of Ponsonhy. 

His sketch for the monument of 
General Gillespie was a figure of 
the general, with a bas-relief of the 
battle at Kalunga (in India), wiiere 
he fell. This was a good compo- 

.Sketch of a Monutucd for Goteral 
f'jj'i Fictoii,hy Mr. Gahagan. 

This was a spirited production. 
Genius and Valour were represent- 
ed rewarded by Victory. Genius 
and Valour were companions in 
arms, and Victory appeared pre- 
senting them with a wreath. We 
imagine that this is, in some de- 
gree, mistaken allegory ; for the 
owly rfewtinl which Victory could 
allcgorioally bestow was herself, 
But her wreath. 

Skehk J<fr the Mo:>h-ntcnt of General 
"t ' Pon.sPfthf, by j\]r. Thced. 
''I'oThis sketcifi is thus described by 
fche artisf.i— '^This distinguished 
feifieer'is Baid to liave owed his 

death partly to the weakness of his 
horse, which fell in battle while he 
was checking the too great ardour 
of his men. The con)position re- 
presents him receiving a wreath 
from the hand of Victory in the 
moment of death : he was fouad on 
the field stripped." ^iuoW 

Mr. Tl.eed, in aiming to give 
his monument historical [)recision, 
should liave taken care not to hav*e 
trail sposetl events, by giving his 
hero the laurel of Victory after the 
eniiny had stripped and insulted 
his body. This is like the mad 
author, who, in his arrnngement 
for a history of the world, placed 
the deluge before the creation. 
The figures are, liowever, so well 
composed, that we shall not quarrel 
with the artist ibr his transposition. 
Sketch of' II MuiKiiiu'iit for Generals 

Packenham and Gibb-^, by the 

same artist. 

This sketch was finclv imagined. 
Gibbs had already fallen; and bis 
brother general, in the act of seiz- 
ing the British colours, was rushing 
over his body, leading his men on- 
wards to the attack, and inspiriting 
them bv heroic example. 

Among- the other desigtis was one 
for Generals Packenham and Gibbs 
by Mr. W'estmacott, representing 
two generals placed on a pedestal, 
one of them in a cuirass : and an- 
other by Mr. Hopper for General 
Hay's monument; it was a statue, 
will) a few allegorical accompani- 

The committee, at first sight, ex- 
cluded nearly half of ilie sketches 
sent to the Institution. 'I hey made 
this exclusion in so unceremonious 
a manner, that many, who did not 
doubt their taste, inveighed against 
their precipitation ; and others, 



wlio thought their judgment ques- 
tionable, pretended to find abun- 
dant justification for this opinion, 
Theed's sketch ibr Ponsonby's mo- 
nument was in the first exclusion, 
and his other for Packenham re- 
tained; but, in the instability of 
human taste, the former was order- 
t?d back to receive the honour of 
being selected for the future mo- 
nument, and the latter was, in the 
end, overlooked. The selections 
made by the committee were high- 
ly flattering to the rising sculptural 
talent of the country. Mr. Gaha- 
gan received the order for the mo- 
nument of Picton, price three t/iou- 
sand (jruitiens ; Mr. Theed for that of 
Ponsonby at the same price; Mr. 
Westmacoit for that of Packenliam 
and Gil)bs, price tico thousand gui- 
neas; Mr. ToUemache for Skerritt 
and Gore's, price tzco thousand gui- 
neas; Mr. Chantrey for General 
Gillespie's, price fifteen hundred 
guineas; and Mr. Hopper for Ge- 
neral Hay's at the same price. 

Besides these monuments, Mr. 
Matthew Wyatt has executed a 
splendid model for the grand naval 
and military monument, which 
parliament has voted to both ser- 

vices generally for their splendid 
achievements. We are afraid the 
expense of the work, according to 
Mr. VV yatt's plan, will bean effec- 
tual bar to its execution. It would 
cost considerably more tlian a mil- 
lion of money, and is intended to 
form the centre of a square, to be 
built for thepurjiose, at, of course, 
an enormous additional expense. 
The shape is that of a stupettdous 
pyramid, nearly four hundred feet 
in height, and of breadth, &c. in 
proportion. It will present exter- 
nally twenty-two galleries, which 
are to be adorned with bas-reliefs, 
statues, &c. of the most celebrated 
naval and military events, and most 
distinguished ofiicers, during the 
war: the reliefs will be in bronze. 
7 lie interif)r will be in the shape 
of a cone, and calculated for great 
apartments, suited to the business 
of the state, for the reception of 
works of art, &c. &.c. Not the least 
interesting part of this magnificent 
undertaking is, we understand, a 
proposal to government, on the 
part of the artist, that he will em- 
ploy 15,000 of the discharged sol- 
diers and seamen in the erection 
of the work. 


(Continued fro7n vol. I. p. 237.J 

The preceding portions of this 
survey have given the names, na- 
tive country, epochs, works, and 

merits of the principal persons who 
distinguished themselves in the 
various departments of the fine 
arts, who, by their genius, as well 
as by their works, contributed to 
polish their rude contemporaries, 
aijd ennobled their sentiments by 

operating upon their religious and 
moral feelings. We have there 
reviewed the ancient world of art, 
and a new one now opens upon us. 
The magnificent friezes of the tem- 
ples of Diana of Ephesus, Apollo at 
Delphi, Pallas Athene, and Jupi- 
ter Olympius, strewed the floors of 
those ruined edifices. The storms 
of time overthrew the Poric co-.- 



Itimns on wliicli they seemed to 
rest ; and around them lay, in wild 
confusion, the proud capitals that 
had witnessed the sacrificial pro- 
Cessions of antiquity. On their 
site^ ranges ofdouble columns, sup- 
ported upon innumerable arches, 
now rose to a much greater height. 
In the cathedrals of St. Denis, 
Rheims, Strasburg, and Vienna, 
from the altars of St. Sophia at 
Constantinople, Pavia, Milan, Flo- 
rence, Orvieto, and St. Peter's at 
Kome, ascended prayer and praise, 
which seek to approach nearer to 
tjife gods than the smoke of sacrifice, 
as they are designed not mere- 
ly to propitiate, but also to move 
them. The temples of the ancient 
world, 'in which the gods were but 
symbolically seen and worshipped, 
are transformed in the modern into 
actual habitations of the Most 
High, where he is hin)self person- 
ally present at the sacrament of 
the host; and the habitation of the 
Almighty includes also all the 
saints of heaven without excep- 
tion, as prayer may here be offered 
to them all. These are the main 
ideas which have governed the 
style of modern ecclesiastical ar- 

The gods were buried, together 
With their statues, among the ruins 
of the altars and temples of the an- 
cient world. Sprung from chaos, 
before the formation of things, ac- 
cording^ to the cosmogonies of the 
Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, 
they were finally swallowed up in 
the eVcrlasting night of Erebus. 
With the fall of the statue of Ju- 
piter Olynipius the belief in him 
V^as for ever annihilated ; for the 
^Velit God of Christendom is the 
Uncreated, eternal, omnipresent 
f'ol. II. No. VII. 

being, whom fate or chance can- 
not artect. Thus, as our churches 
retained nothing of the temple 
architecture of antiquity but the 
column alone, so the delineations 
of the Supreme Being by Christian 
art, borrowed notiiing but the ex- 
pression of sublime moral energy 
from the Jupiter of whom Phidias 
had given to the Greeks so admi- 
rable a representation. The youth- 
ful sculpture of Christianity, guid- 
ed by this main idea, was, there- 
fore, more studious to exhibit mo- 
ral than merely sensual miracles, 
as may be seen in its earliest pe- 
riod by the works uiion the sarco- 
phagi of the martyrs. The su- 
preme God is here metamorphosed 
into a moral teacher, and displays 
in his miracles not a corporeal, but 
a moral power. 

With the destruction of the 
works of Polygnotns, Zeuxis, af)d 
Apelles, the art of painting, in 
w^hrch the Gf^^eks sci prfefeminently 
excelled, was, in like manner, to- 
tally lost. If gravity and dignity 
be the chief characteristics of the 
style of all sculpture, grace, ele- 
gance, and loveliness are the prin- 
cipal qualities of painting, which 
it is capable of expressing, as well 
as gravity and dignity. But that 
Grecian charis, that rare and ten- 
der flower of the youthful imagi- 
nation, in the period of its highest 
perfection, appeared in the paint- 
ings of the Greeks, not merely in 
the Ceramici, the Poecilia, the 
Leschi, and in palaces, but also 
more particularly in their temples 
and sacelli: hence it was enabled 
I to adorn the temples with repre- 
\ sentations of the kindly deities of 
pleasure, an Eros, a Venus, and a 
Bacchus, which must be for ever 



banished from the temple of the 
Christian aDra. The dances, the 
groups of Graces, Cupids, Satyrs, 
Fauns, were here in their right 
place; and thus the very religion 
of the ancients afforded the essen- 
tial motive for the more pleasing 
productions of the plastic art, 
which the religion of the Christian 
a^ra uiust decidedly condemn. For 
this reason, nothing but the cor- 
rectness of forms, together with 
their beauty and the external 
charm of colours, could be trans- 
ferred to the painting of Christian 
art, which sought to express more 
profound feelings; and, by the 
manner in which it represented 
these feelings, it has exhibited a 
view of the inward man, which most 
strongly distinguishes the Christian 
£era from the periods that preceded 
it in the great history of mankind 
and of nations. 

Metuodorus, of Persia, A. D. 320 
Many buildings ia India, whilher he 
travelled : some at Constantinople. 
He is the first known Christian archi- 
Ai.iPius, of Antioch, 350. By command- 
of Julian the Apostate, he laid the 
foundation of a new temple at Jeru- 
salem, but the work was interrupted 
by flames of fire which issued from 
the earth. 
CiRiADEs, of Rome, 400. A church 

and a bridge. 
Sennamar, of Arabia, 450. Sedir and 
Khaovainack, two celebrated palaces 
in Arabia. 
Aloisius, of Padua, 490. He assisted 
in the erection of the celebrated ro- 
tunda at Ravenna, the cupola of which 
is said to have been of one stone, 38 
feel in diameter and 15 feet thick. 

He also displayed his talents in the 
reparation of many ancient edifices 
under the direction of Cassiodorus. 

St. Germain, of Paris, 500. The plan 
of the church of St. Germain, previ- 
ously dedicated to St. Vincent, at 
Paris. A convent at Mans. He was 
bishop of Paris. 

St. Avitus, of Clermont, 500. The 
church of Madonne da Port. He was 
bishop of Clermont. 

St. Agricola, of Chalons, 500. Ca- 
thedral of Chalons, with many other 
churches in that diocese, of which he 
was bishop. '■■'-'■ ''lf^<'>-^ 

Eterius, of Constantinople, 550. Part 
of the imperial palace at Constantino- 
ple, called Chalci. ^ 

Anthemius, ofTralles, in Lydia, 550. 
The celebrated church of St. Sophia, 
at Constantinople, now the principal 
mosque of that city, and several other 
buildings there. His style was re- 
markable for grandeur and dignity. 

IsiooRus, of Miletu?, 550. He assisted 
in the erection of the church of St. 
Sophia, at Constantinople. 

Chryses, of Dara, in Persia, 550. He 
constructed the celebrated dykes along 
the Euripus near Dara, to keep the 
river in its channel, and to prevent the 
water of the sea from entering the ri- 
ver. He excelled in hydraulic archi- 

IsiDORus, of Byzantium, 600. The city 
of Zenobia, in Syria, was built by him 
and Johannes. His taste was not pure, 
and too aftecled. 

Johannes, of Miletus, 600. — Spe Isi- 


Rumualdus, of France, 840. The ca- 
thedral of Rheims; the earliest exam- 
ple of what is termed Gothic archi- 

TiETLAND, of Switzerland, 900. The ce- 
lebrated convent of Einsiedein, in 

TioDA, of Spain, 900. The palace of 
King Alphonso the Chaste, at Ovie- 
do, now tlie episcopal palace. Th^ 



churches of St. Salvator, St. Michael, 
and St. Mary. 

BuscHETTo, ofDulichium, 1016. The 
celebrated cathedral of Pisa; the ear- 
liest example otvvliat is termtd Lom- 
bard ecclesiastical architecture. 

PiETRO Di UsT AMBER, of Spain, 1020. 
The cathedral ofCharlres. 

Alvaro Garri.\, ofEstella, in Navarre, 

Raimond, of Montfort, in France, 1 1 39. 
The cathedral of Lugo. 

DiOTiSALVi, of Italy, 1150. The cele- 
brated Battisterio of, near the 
Campo Santo. His works were in the 
Lombard style, overloaded with mi- 
nute ornaments. 

BuoNO, of Venice, 1 130. The celebra- 
ted tQWer of St. Mark, at Venice. The 
<:Vi^;S«i9>(iW,ith the Castello del 'Uovo, 
at Naples. The church of St. An- 
drew, at Pisloia. 

SuGGEK, of Si. Denis, lljO. lie re- 
built the church and abbey of St. 
Denis, near Paris. He was distin- 
guished by perfection of what is called 
the Gothic style. 

PiETHO DI Cozzo, of Italy, 1170. The 
celebrated great hall at Padua. 

WiLHELM, of Germany, 1170. The 
hanging tower uf marl)!e at Pisa, upon 
which Bonnano and Thomaso, sculp- 
tors of Pisa, were also engaged. This 
tower was originally built perpendi- 
cular; but the ground consisting ot 
sea-sand, sunk during the progress of 
the work in such a manner, that its 
centre difters with its periphery about 
1 5 feet, 

Robert, of Lusarche, in France, 1220. 
The cathedral of Amiens, continued 
by,Tbcnias de Cormont, and finished 
t)y his son Renauld. 

Et lENNE D E Bonn EVE iT„ of France, 1220. 
The church of the Trinity, at L'psal, 
in Sweden, after the model of Notre 
Dame, at Paris. 

Jea!)1 d'Echelles, of France, 12o0, 
The portico of Notre Dame, at Paris. 

PitRP.E D£ MoNTEKEAi, of France, 

1250. The Holy Chapel at Vin- 
cennes. The refectory, dormitory, 
chapter- house, and chapel of Notre 
Dame, in the convent of Si. Germain 
des Prez, near Paris. 

EuDE DE MoNTREuiL, of France, 1250. 
Church of the Hotel Dieu, at Paris. 
The churches of St. Catherine du Val 
des Ecoliers, uf St. Croix de la Bre- 
tonnerie, of Blancs Manteaux, of the 
Mathurins, of the Cordeliers, and of 
the Carthusians, at Paris. His style 
was gloomy Gothic. 

SanGonsalvo, of Portugal, 1250. Stone 
bridge at Amaranto. 

San Lorenzo, of Portugal, 1250. Stone 
bridge at Tui. 

San Pietro, of Portugal, 1250. Stone 
bridge, called II I'onte di Cavez. 

Lapo, or Jacobus, of Germany, 1250. 
Convent and church of St. Francis, at 
Assisi. Palazzo del Bargello, at Flo- 

Nicola da Pisa, of Pisa, 1250. Con- 
vent and church of the Dominicans at 
Bologna. Church of St. Michele and 
tower of the Augustins, at Pisa, Great 
church del Santo, at Padua. Church 
of the Frati Minori, at Venice. Ab- 
bey and church of Tagliacozzo, in the 
kingdom of Naples. Plans of the 
church of St. Giovaimi, at Siena, of 
the church and convent di S. Trinita, 
at Florence, and also for those of the 
Dominicans at Arezzo. He inter- 
mixed the Gothic with the Lombard 
style. About twenty-eight years la- 
ter commenced the building of the 
cathedra! of Florence by two monks, 
Fra Giovanni and Fra Risioro. 

Fuccio, of Italy, 1270. Church of St. 
Mary su TArno, at Florence. He fi- 
nished the Vicaria and Castello dell' 
Uovo, at Naples; and was distinguish- 
ed for his skill in fiMiihcation. 

Maglione, of Pisa, 1270. The cathe- 
dral and the church of S. Lorenzo, at 

Masuccio, of Naples, 1270. Maria 
della Nuova, at Naples. Churches of 
C 2 


S. Dominico Magg. and S. Giovanni 
Magg. ; the archiepiscopal palace and 
the Palazzo Colombrano, in the same 

Maiuno Boccanera, of Genoa, 1280. 
The mole of Genoa- vvas begun by 

Arnolfo, of Florence, 1230. The church 
offS. Croce, the walls of the city, to- 
gether with the towers; the model and 
plan of the cathedral S. Maria del 
Fiore, to which Bruneleschi added the 
cupola, at Florence. 

PfETRO Perez, of Spain, 1280. The 
cathedral of Toledo. 

Robert be Covey, of France, 12S0. 
He rebuilt the cathedral at Rheims. 

Erwin von Steinbach, of German}', 
] 280. The celebrated minster of 
Strasbnrg w^as superintended by him 
for twenty-eight years. His style was 
the purest Gothic. 

Giovanni DA Pisa, of Pisa, 1280. The 
celebrated Campo Santo, at Pisa. Cas- 
tel Nuovo, at Naples. The facade of 
the cathedral of Siena. Many other 
churches and palaces at Arezzo, and 
in other towns of Italy. He is re- 
markable as the first architect in the 
modern style of fortification. His 
churches and other buildings are grand 
and cheerful. 

Andrea da Pisa, of Pisa, 1300. Plan 
of the fortress delia Scarperia, at Mu- 
gello, at the foot of the Appennines. 
Plan and model of the church of S. 
Giovanni, at Pistoia. The ductil Pa- 
lazzo Gualtieri, at Florence. He was 
. distinguished in fortification. 

AuGusTiN, brother of Angelo, of Pisa, 
. 1300, The north f.i9ade of the ca- 
ihedral of Siena, as also the church 
and convent of St, Francis in the same 
. city. The church di S. Maria, like- 
wise at Siena, was built by him and 
Angelo jointly. 

Angelo, brother of Augustin, of Pisa, 

1300. — See Augl'siin. 
GiAcoMO Laniham, of Italv, 1330. 

Church of St, Francis, at Imola. Church 
of St. Anthony, at Venice. 
Jean Rauy, of France, 134'0. He fi- 
ni hed the building of the church of 
Notre Dame, at Paris. 
William Rede, of Chichester, England, 
1350. The castle of Amberley, Sus- 

William Wykeham, of Wykeham, in 
Engltuid, 1350. Plan of Windsor 
Castle. Cathedral of Winchester. 

Philii' Brlneleschi, of Florence, 1390, 
Cupola of the cathedral of Florence. 
Palazzo Pitti at the same place, begun, 
and about half finished, by him. He 
set the first example of the purer .style 
in the architecture of Italian palaces. 

MiCHELozzo MiCHELOzzi, of Florencc, 
1 400. The Palazzo de Medicis, now 
Riccardi, the plan of which was de- 
signed by Bruneleschi, the Palazzo 
Catlagiulo, the Palazzo della Villa 
Careggi, and the Palazzo Tornabuoni, 
at Florence: several other palaces, 
churches, and convents. His style was 
distinguished for its purity, 

Gicliano, of Majano, near Florence, 
1400. The Palazzo del Poggio Reale, 
at Naples. The palace and church 
of St, Marco, at Rome, in which he 
employed many of the stones from the 
Colosseum. He was an artist of dis- 
tinguished merit, 

Andrea Ciccione, of Naples, 1430. 
The convent and church of Monte 
Oliveto, at Naples, Several other 
convents and palaces. 

Leon Battista Alberti, of Florence, 
1450. Church of St. Francis, at Ri- 
mini ; church of St. Andrew, at Man- 
tua. A great number of other build- 
ings in Italy, 

Christobolo, of Italy, 1450. A mosque 
at Constantinople, with eight schof)ls 
and eight hospitals on the site of the 
church of the Apostles, by command 
of Mahomet II. 

(To be continued.) 


COLOUR, &C. &C. 

The art of dying consists in ex- 
tracting the colouring matters from 
dilfcrent substances, making them 
pass into the fibres of woollen, 
cotton, flax, silk, or other bodies, 
and fixing them there as perma- 
nently as possible, so as to resist 
the action of the liquids to which 
the article will probably be ex- 
posed in the ordinary affairs of life. 
— Thus, for instance, dyed linen 
and cotton goods must resist the 
effects of soap and water, to which 
they are necessarily subjected in 
washing, and woollen and silk 
goods must bear being scoured, 
which, in fact, is a more careful 
process of applying detergent ar- 
ticles in a particular manner, simi- 
lar to the operation of soaj) and 


Containing aulhcntic Receipts mid iniscclldncuus Infonnalion in every Branch of 
Donicatic Econoinj/, and of general Utility. 

of alum, in a sufficient quantity of 
water, for half an hour; and then, 
without rinsing, plunge it into a 
copper, containing a decoction of 
twice as much quercitron bark as. 
equals the weight of the ahnn em- 
ployed, and agitate it in the dye 
liquor till it has acquired the in- 
tensity of colour wished for. This 
being accomplished, a quantity of 
powdered whiting or chalk, equal 
in weight to ^-^^ part of the wool, 
must be thrown into the copper, 
and the mixture suffered to boil 
very gently for about a. quarter of 
an hour longer. By this method a.- 
bright lively yt,llow is produced. 
To (h/e Silk a bright clear YelloTv. 
Silk may be dyed a fine clears 
yellow in the following manner: — 
First impregnate tlie silk by soak- 
ing it for a few minutes in soap and 
water; then rinsing it, and im- 
mersing it in a solution of alum and 
water, and then passinoj it throufrh 
a decoction of weld till the desired 

water. And although the processes shade of colour is produced. The 

of dying comprehend a series of 
complicated operations, which are 
strictly founded on chemical prin- 
ciples, and which require much 
skill, we shall, on this occasion, 
exhibit some simple processes of 
this beautiful art, that may be suc- 
cessfully practised in an easy and 
economical manner by those who 
are unacquainted with the dyer's 
To dye Wool a permanent Yellow. 
Woollen yarn, or cloth, may be 
dyed of a permanent yellow in the 
following manner: — Boil the yarn 
or cloth with one-sixth of its weight 

weld is to be tied up in a coarse 
bag, and put into the copper, with 
a sufficient quantity of water; and 
after having boiled for about half 
an hour, and the fire slackened, the 
silk, previously impregnated with 
alum, is passed through this bath. 
Gold or deep I cllozc. 
Add a small quantity of pearl 
ash towards the end of the process ; 
or still better, add the pearl ash ta 
a second decoction of weld, and 
pass the silk through it, after hav- 
ing been first dyed a bright clear 
yellow, in the manner before stated. 



Oranse Yel/otc 
may be dyed, by adding to tlie 
decoction of weld a small quantity 
of aniiotto. The silk, being first 
dyed a clear yellow in the manner 
before stated, acquires a rich gold- 
en hue when passed through a bath 

and afterwards dilute the solution 
with one-fourth part of its weight 
of soft water. Then put eight 
ounces of this solution into an 
earthenware pan, with a sufficient 
quantity of water, and add also ten 
ounces of cream of tartar, and six 

of weld, to which a small portion of j of finely powdered cochineal, and 
annotto has been previously added. 
Jonquil Yellorc. 

This colour is given to silk by 
adding to the decoction of weld a 
small quantity of crystallized ace- 
tate of copper (crystallized verdi- 

To dye Cotton Yellow. 

Let the article be first well 
cleansed by boiling it for about a 
quarter of an hour with a small 
quantity of pearl-ash ; then im- 
pregnate it with alum, and dye it 
in a bath of weld, in which the 

boil this mixture. In this bath the 
article to be dyed must be im- 
mersed till it has received a fine 
bright colour. By adding a little 
turmeric root in powder, the red 
colour is rendered more brilliant/ u^ 
The colours known by tlie nan)e«' 
of poppy, cherry, rose, and flesh 
colour, are given to silk by dying 
them with carthamus; that is to 
say, by keeping the silk immersed 
in an alcaline solution of the co- 
louring matter of carthamus flower, 
into which as much lemoii-juice, 

quantity of weld is at least equal to ! or instead of it a solution of 
the quantity of cotton to be dyed, crystallized citric acid, has been 

When this is done, soak it in a bath 
of sulphate of copper and water for 
twenty-four hours; and, lastly, 
rinse it in water, and suffer it to 
dry. Instead of weld, quercitron 
bark may be used; but the yellow 
d\^e which this bark gives, is not so 
bright and lively as the yellow ob- 
tained from weld. 
To dye Silk Crimson, Poppy Red, 

Clieny Red, Rose Red, and Flesh 


Silk may be dyed red, of various 
shades, by means of cochineal or 
carthamus. It ma}- be dyed crim- 
son by first steeping it in a solu- 
tion of alum, and then dying it 
in a cochineal bath, prepared in 
the following manner: — In the first 
place, dissolve one part of sal am- 
moniac in eight parts of nitric acid ; 
and add, by very small portions at 
a time, one part of granulated tin, 

poured as produces the desired 
shade of colour. The solution ot 
carthamus is prepared in the fol- 
lowing manner: — Take any quan- 
tity of carthamus flower, put it into 
a bag, and squeeze it in water, to 
deprive it of all the extractive co- 
louring matter which can thus be 
separated by the action of water j 
and repeat this process till the wa- 
ter, thus employed for extracting 
the colouring matter, ceases to be 
tinged. This being done, infuse 
the carthanms, thus deprived of its 
yellow colouring matter, in a weak 
solution of carbonate of soda in 
water, which will extract the red 
colouring matter that it contains, 
and which is soluble in the alcaii ; 
and if to the solution lemon-juice 
be added, th,e red colouring matter 
again becomes pretipitaied, and 
affixes itself to the fibres of the 



silk, whilst the acid of the lemon- 
juice coml)ines with the alcali of 
the carbonate of potash. 
To dye U ool Brown, Fazc/if and 
Nankeen Colour. 
Wool may he clyed a brown or 

ture nine parts of indigo, ground 
up with a little water, and keep the 
mixture boiling for about half an 
hour. Or a still richer blue dye 
will beobtained thus : — Mix up to- 
gether one partof indigo, two ])arts 

fawn colour by making a decoction j of green vitriol, and twoof quick- 
of the green covering of the wal- i lime, with a sufficient quantity of 

nut. It is well known that walnut- 

water; stir the mixture together, 

peels strongly dye the skin, 'i'o li and suffer it to remain in a closed 
dye brown with tlieu), nothing else I vessel for four or five days. With the 
is required than to immerse the j clear liquor thus obtained, wool, 
article in a warm decoction of them, I silk, cotton, oranyotherarticle, may 
till it has acquired the wished- for ' be dyed a permanent l)lue. The 
colour. The intensity of the co- : article comes out of the dye of a 
lour is proportioned to the strength j green colour, and turns blue 1)V 
of the decoction. The walnut- j exposure to the air. When the 
husks may be kept for a longtime, I article is thus dyed blue, it is ne- 
indeed for many years, in vessels ' cessary to rinse it in water very 
filled with water. The root and l slightly acidulated with sulphuric 
bark of the walnut-tree give a de- : acid. This heightens the colour, 

coction much resembling the fruit- 
husk : it may be employed to pro- 
duce a very fast buff or fawn co- 
lour; if alum be added, the dye be- 
comes somewhat lighter. 

A good bright and permanent 
nankeen colour may be given to 
cotton by iron liquor (acetate of 
iron). It is only necessary to soak 
the cotton previously in a weak 
solution of sub-carbonate of soda 
or of potash, and then immerse it 
into the iron liquor: or the article to 

and extracts any earthy matter, 
which would give a harsh feel to 
the stuff, and imjxur the lustre. 
Every kind of stuff' may be dyed 
blue with this dye. 


Although the examination of 
marls and limestones, with a view 

to ascertain their fitness for the 
be dyed may be soaked first in the purposes of agriculture, is a sub- 

iron liquor, and the fluid may then 
be super-saturated with a solution 
of a sub-carbonated alcali. It must 
afterwards be rinsed in a very weak 
solution of sulphuric acid. 
To dye Jt'ou/, Si/k, Cotton, and 

other ShiJ^'s, a permanent Blue. 

Boil in a pi|)kin, or saucepan, 
nine parts, by weight, of pearl-ash, 
with as much bran, and one part of 
madder root, in a sufficient quan- 
tity of water, and add to this tnix- 

jcct lamiliar to those who are con- 
versant with analytical chemistry, 
it will, nevertheless, we hope, not 
be deemed superfluous to lay be- 
fore tlie readers of the Repository 
the process best suited for the un- 
learned farmer, to ascertain the na- 
ture of marls and limestones, so as 
to determine their relative agri- 
cultural value. 

The name of marl is given to a 
mixture chiefly composed of calca- 



reous earth and clay, in which the I 
calcareous earth considerably ex- i 
ceeds the other ingredients. In 
agriculture, a variety of these com- \ 
binationsare distinguished by par- 
ticular names, such as common 
marl, shell marl, stone marl, &c. ; 
but by whatever name this sub- 
stance may go, it may be asserted, 
that all n)arls are useful in agricul- 
ture onl}- in proportion to the 
quantity of calcareous earth which 
they contain ; and with respect to 
its utility in manuring land, a marl 
is not reckoned of any value unless 
it contains thirty-five or forty per 
cent, of lime or calcareous earth. 
The easiest mode of ascertaining 
this, is to immerse one hundred 
partsof the marl, thevalue of which 
you wish to ascertain, in a sulhci- 
ent quantity of dilute muriatic acid 
(spirit of salt). All that is dis- 
solved by tiiis means is lime, and 
tio more of it ; by weighing the re- 
mainder, therefore, and subtract- 
ing it from the \vhole, you learn 
the exact proportion which one 
hundred parts of the marl contain, 
because the carbonic acid, which 
was combined with the calcareous 
earth, is expelled by the muriatic 
acid. The loss of weight of the 
carbonic acid, therefore, fixes the 
value of the marl. Thus, for ex- 
ample, if an ounce of marl loses 
forty grains, we conclude that the 
ounce of marl contained only one 
hundred grains of calcareous earth ; 
and that it would be the interest of 
thefarmer to pay five times as much 
for a load of lime as he must pay 
for a load of marl, provided he 
should be obliged to fetch it from 
the same distance. This being 
premised, the following method 

will enable any person to perform 
investigations of this kind : — 

1. Put a few ounces of common 
muriatic acid, previously mixed 
with not less than an equal quantity 
of water, into a tea-cup, or other 
vessel ; place it in a scale, and let 
it be balanced. 

2. Reduce a few ounces of dry 
marl to powder, and let small por- 
tions of it at a time be added to 
the acid, till no farther efferves- 
cence or frothing up takes place. 

3. Let the remainder of the marl 
be then weighed, by which means 
the quantity dissolved by the acid 
will be learned. 

4. Let the scale be next restor- 
ed. The difference of weight be- 
tween the quantity added to the 
acid, and that requisite to restore 
the equilibrium, will shew the 
weight of carbonic acid lost during 
the effervescence. 

If the loss amounts to thirteen 
per cent, of the quantity of marl 
projected, or from thirteen to thir- 
ty-three grains per cent, the marl 
analyzed is calcareous marl, that is 
to say, marl rich in calcareous earth. 

Marls in which clay abounds 
(clayey marls), seldom lose more 
than eight or ten per cent, of their 
weight by this treatment. The 
presence of argillaceous earth in 
marl may likewise be ascertained 
by drying it, after being washed 
well : when kneaded together, dried 
and burnt, the marl will harden and 
form a brick. Sandy, marls gene- 
rally lose a still less quantity o.f 
carbonic acid. 

Sir, — It having fallen to my lot 
to be one of those who are charged 



to make trials and observatiuiis on 
tlie best metliods of preserving 
water sweet or fresh during long 
sea voyages, 1 take tins nietliod of 
stating, that of all the remedies 
tried during a course of three years' 
experience, none has answered 
better to preserve water sweet dur- 
ing long sea voyages than the 
practice of charring the water- 
casks on their inside. There are 
now in one of his Majesty's dock- 
yards three casks of water, which 
water is three years old, and per- 
fectly sweet. There is, therefore, 
little doubt, that water may be pre- 
served fresh or fit for drink any 
length of time in charred barrels. 
It has been generally supposed, 
that the putrefaction to which wa- 
ter is liable, arises from its contain- 
ing chiefly organic matter : but this 
is not so much the case as a real 
decomposition of the water being 
effected by the chemical action of 
the wood, to which it is continually 
exposed. That tainted water may 
be rendered sweet by filtering it 
through fresh burnt and coarsely 
pulverized chaircoal, is sjifficiently 
known. I am, with respect, sir, 
vours, F. Williams. 

Puitsioouth, May 28, Idl6. 


Every farmer knows, that there 
is a vast difference in the fertiliz- 
ing power of diR'erent kinds of 
lime when employed as a manure; 
for there are many extensive dis- 
stricts in this country which fur- 
nish lime far inferior to the lime 

To/. //. No. rij. 

obtained from other places. The 
presence of magnesia in limestone, 
it is now well known, proves ex- 
tremely injurious to vegetation 
when employed as a manure. The 
magnesian limestone may readily 
be distinguished from limestone 
which affords quicklime fit for 
agriculture, by the extreme slow- 
ness of its solution in acids, which 
is so considerable that even the 
softest kind of the former is much 
longer dissolving than marble. 

The following is the easiest pro- 
cess for ascertaining whether a 
limestone is fit for agriculture or 
not: — 

Put into a tea-cup one hun- 
dred grains of the limestone to be. 
examined, |)reviously reduced to 
powder, and pour over it, by de- 
grees, half an ounce of sulphuric 
acid. On each effusion of the acid, 
a violent efliervescence will ensue; 
when this ceases, stir the acid and 
limestone together witlt the stem 
of a tobacco-pipe, and heat the 
mixture on the hob of a common 
fire-place : or, what is still better, 
put the tea-cup on sand placed in 
a common fire-shovel, and heat it 
1 in that manner over a clear coal 
fire till its contents are dry. This 
I being done, reduce the mixture to 
powder, and pour over it two or 
threeounces of water; heat themix- 
ture again for a quarter of an hour, 
and then throw the whole upon a 
filter, and wash the insoluble part 
on the filter, by pouring over it, 
repeatedly, small quantities of wa- 
ter. To the fluid which has passed 
through the filter, add gradually 
half an ounce of common pearl-ash, 
or sub-carbonate of soda, dissolved 
in three or four ounces of water, 



which will produce a copious pre- 
cipitate, if the limestone contained 
any notable quantitj' of magnesia ; 
if not, the fluid will only become 
slightly milky. Heat the fluid (if 
ruagnesia be present) iiy setting it 
in a tea-cup near the fire; let the 
precipitate subside; pour off the 
clear fluid, which may be thrown 
awaj', and wash the white precipi- 
tate with warm water; then pour 
it on a fiJter, the weight of which 
is known, dry and weigh the whole. 
The result shews how much car- 
bonate of magnesia was contained 
in the original stone; or deducting 
sixty per cent, how much pure 
magnesia one hundred parts of the 
lime contain. 

If burned lime has been used, 
deduct from the weight of the pre- 
cipitate sixty per cent, and the 
lemaiader gives the weight of mag- 

nesia in each one hundred grains 
of burned lime. •« srIJ 

Take one part of crystallized 
triple prussiate of potash, dis- 
solve it in eight ounces of water, 
make the solution hot, and Ijrush 
the wood over with it twice or three 
times. This being done, make a 
decoction of logwood, of one part, 
by weight, of logwood, and four.of 
water, and brush the wood over with 
it also ; and, lastly, appl}- a decoc- 
tion of gall-nuts, mingled with a 
concentrated solution of red oxide 
of iron : brusli the wood over with it 
three or four times, and iit will now 
be of a beautiful blue-black colour, 
which is permanent. The wood 
may be polished with at hard brusla 
and black shoemaker's waxvi^> ii- - 

■i u>~) f>fh lot 


— >♦< - 

This gentleman was one of the 
almoners of Louis XVI, and per- 
haps it would be difficult to find a 
more singular character ; he was, 
in fact, an odd compound of the 
devotee and the man of the world : 
fond to excess of hunting and 
play, he contrived, nevertheless, to 
perform his clerical duties with 
strict regularity. Simple, bene- 
volent, and well intentioned, his 
eccentricities were at times very 
amusing. He was very fond of 
politics, and the blunders he made 
in conversation on that subject of- 
£en created mirtli at court. Talk- 
ing one day with Madame de Po- 
lignac about the war between Eng- 
land and America, he said, very 

seriously, " I have several times 
seen the o/;^^// of Chesapeak men- 
tioned in the papers; it must bean 
excellent benefice, and should M. 
de Rochambeau prove victorious, 
I shall, whenever it becomes va- 
cant, request the queen to ask for 
it for me from the Congress." 
Though the al>b6 was very bene- 
volent, his odd manner made even 
liis charities sometimes appear ri- 
diculflw^. One day, at a hunting 
party, being left heliind by hrs 
companions, he overtook one of 
the huntsmen just at the moment 
when he had fallen from his horse, 
and broken his leg. The abbt-, 
striiek with' consternation, dis- 
mounted iti great haste to assist 




inm : being in the midst of a forest, 
the abbe looked about in vain for 
help. The huntsman, in tlie mean 
time, bein{T in great pain, groaned 
most terribly; and M. de Baliviere, 
not knowing how to go about as- 
sisting him, began very gravtly to 
condole with him on his misfor- 
tune, and taking his snuft'-box from 
his pocket, pressed him to take a 
pinch. Our readers will scarcely 
give M. de Baliviere credit for 
much understanding : yet he play- 



n Htrv/ f: 

This nobleman, who was much 
liked in Paris when he resided 
there in quality of ambassador, was 
possessed of considerable wit and 
vivacity. The French are indebted 
to him for the introduction of Ita- 
iian music into France, He sent 
for the celebrated Piccini, whom he 
encouraged and supported against 
z powerful party, at the head of 
which was Gluck, who was then 
protected by the queen, Marie An- 

The marquis had been ambassa- 
dor in London before he went to 
Paris, and some of his sallies are 

ed with great skill at the most dif- 
ficult games ; conducted the tem- 
poral as well as spiritual affairs of 
his living with great judgment; 
and shewed good sense, as well as 
benevolence, in administering to 
the v/ants of the poor. In short, 
we might sum up his character by 
reversing the two last lines of Ro- 
chester's epitaph on Charles II. 

" He never did a foolisli thing, 

Nor tv«:i biiid a wise one." if 

peculiarities of every nation he had 
visited. Speaking one day of the 
passion of the English for betting, 
he said very gravely, that he had 
been near falling a victim to ii. 
" 1 was riding," continued he, *' on 
the high road, and my horse being 
startled at something, ran away 
with me. Two Englishmen, who 
were galloping behind me, directly 
betted a couple of guineas, one 
that I should be throtvn, the other 
that I should keep my seat: both 
were totally regardless of my cries 
for help, and the horse galloped 
on till we came near a turnpike, 
still remembered in both coun- | The toll-keeper immediately shut 
tries. His present Majesty, with : the gates, and I thought myself 
whom the marquis whs rather a fa- [just out of danger: no such thing, 
vourite, knowing that he frequently one of t\\c two who laid the wager, 
abused the English climate, asked ;| called out, ' No, no, don't shut 
him one line summer's diiy whether I them ! don't shut them! there's a 
he did not fancy himself at Naples, wager !' The man immediately 
" Ah, sire !" replied lie, with much ;j opened the gates, and my horse 
quickness, '* the moon of the king did not stop till he had got a mile 
my master is preferable to your beyond the turnpike." It is un- 
majesty's sun." We make no com- (I necessary to add, that there was not 
mentson the po/i7f//ei.s of this reply. ;| a word of truth in this story, which 
He was of a very observing turn, jj the marquis, however, related in a 
and exposed with much drollery |! manner that would have imposed 
the various, and sometimes absurd, W upon anv body. 

D -i 


The marquis, when appointed to 
the vice-royalty of Sicily, was far 
from being pleased at an appoint- 
ment, however honourable, that 
obliged him to quit France, a coun- 
try to which he was much attached. 
When he went to take leave of 
Louis XVI. that monarch said to 
him, " I congratulate you, M. I'Am- 

bassador, on your appointment ; 
you are about to occupy one of the 
finest places in Europe." — *' Ah, 
sire!" replied he, in a melancholy 
tone, " the finest place in Europe 
is the place I quit." The point of 
this reply was his allusion to the 
Place Vendome. 




The following singular petition 
was presented to the Queen of Por- 
tugal from the Viscount d'Entre- 
casteaux, formerly one of the 
judges of the parliament of Aix in 
Provence, in France, who having 
fled his country, after having mur- 
dered his wife, escaped by sea to 
Portugal, where he was discovered 
and apprehended. The French 
ambassador formally demanded 
that the criminal should be given 
up, in order that he might be sent 
back to France, to suffer there the 
punishment due to his crime. Be- 
fore any answer was given to the 
ambassador, the following petition 
was put into the queen's hands : — 

" I had not a soul formed for the 
commission of crimes; a moment 
of delirium and madness alone 
plunged me into the abyss into 
which I have fallen. I pretend not, 
however, to be the less criminal, 
or the less deserving of punish- 
ment ; but if my crime is too great 
for mercy, at least may 1 hope to 
excite some pity in your majesty's 
breast? Deign then,Ogreatqueen ! 
to listen to the voice of that pity, 
and save me from that shame of 

nao2 ni 

suffering death in my own c6un- 
try, by inflicting it on me here. I 
am too well acquainted with the 
prejudices that exist in France, to 
hope that even after I should have 
paid to justice the forfeit of my 
life, my memory should escape the 
infamy that attends those who fall 
by the hands of the public execu- 
tioner. Justice having once re- 
ceived her due, no trace of the 
crime ought to remain, and preju- 
dice should rest satisfied. May I 
then hope, great princess, that as I 
call myself for the punishment I 
deserve, and become even a peti- 
tioner to obtain it, my soul may be 
freed from ignominy, for which 
nature never formed it, but which 
it has, nevertheless, too richly de- 
served ? Were this my prayer 
granted, I should have the conso- 
lation, in my last moments, to think 
that my name would not hereafter 
be remembered with horror; and 
in taking the last farewell of the 
authors of my days, I might say to 
them, ' Your son is still worthy of 
you : he has done away the disho- 
nour he has brought upon you ; 
he has made atonement for bis 


crime, and is thus become worthy 
of your compassion !' If I should 
have the great happiness to excite 
your majesty's pity, and in your 
mercy you sliould be incUned to 
<;rant my petition, you need not 
be afraid that your justice should, 
in the least degree, infringe the 
laws of nations, by dooming to die 
in your dominions the subject of 
another crown, for a crime com- 
mitted in his own country; on the 
contrary, I Hatter njyself that I 
shall be able to demonstrate to 
your majesty, that your justice is, 
in some measure, bound to put me 
to death. Tliough I am by birth a 
Frenchman, yet it is not as a i 
Frenchman that I am guilty; it is !J 
not the French nation alone that I | 
have olFended ; it is as a man that I 
am a criminal, and all mankind 
have a right to inHict upon me the [ 
punishment of death. V\ herever 
there are nfc;n, and laws by which 
they are governed, I an) amenable 
to punishment for a crime levelled 
against luinuui nature: I carry I 
about me a mark that must point \ 
me out as unworthy of protection, ! 
and wherever I am found, there may | 
my blood be spilt with justice. 

" In this country I have publicly 
confessed my crime; I have made 
known the culprit to your majesty ; ' 
1 am at once the accuser, the wit- 
ness, and the criminal. What 
more is wanting but judgment? | 
which I beseech your majesty to ' 
pass upon me. i 

" 1 entertain the greatest hope | 
of obtaining a request that will | 
(enable your majesty to unite jus- I 
tice and clemency. If the com- 
punction of a soul, filled with hor- 
ror at its crime, can excite pity, 
you will extend it towards me by 

granting the request I take the li- 
berty to make; that by dooming 
me to death in your own domi- 
nions, you may put an end to n)y 
remorse, and, at the same time, en- 
able me to expiate a crime at 
which humanity shudders. If I am 
so unhappy, so criminal, as not to 
deserve any compassion, 1 will ap- 
peal to your justice: I bring be- 
fore you a man guilty of the most 
enorujous crime, and call for his 

" If your majesty was engaged 
in a war, I might perhaps have be- 
sought you to aftord me an oppor- 
tunity to spill some of my blood in 
your service, before I should ex- 
piate by a public punishment the 
offence of which I have been guil- 
ty, to the end tliat my death, at 
least, might not be entirely useless. 
But as your majesty has the hap- 
piness to make your subjects enjoy 
the blessings of profound peace, 
your justice calls for my life as its 
due; to that justice I hope I shall 
be indebted for the recovery of my 
lost virtue, the security of my ho- 
nour, and a deliverance from all my 
pains. If, on the other hand, your 
majesty, considering the enormity 
of my crime, should think that my 
blood would pollute your domi- 
nions, despair alone will then be 
my portio!!. However, in eitlier 
i case, even in the agonies of deatii, 
I shall not cease to otfer up my 
most fervent prayers for the pro- 
sperity of your nuijesty's reign. 
While suspended between hope and 
fear, 1 vv;iit a decision that will fix 
' my doom, I am, with the most pro- 
found rtspect, your majesty's most 
humble and most obedient servant, 
" Brcnzi d'Entrecasteaux." 
I Somcnct. 



Dr. Clarke, in his Travels, re- 
lates a very curious circumstance 
in the natural history of the swal- 
low, wiili wliich he accidentally 
became acquainted at a village in 
Greece. " In the course of our 
search for antiquities," says he, 
*' happening to visit the shop of a 
poor harber, we observed, as we 
were speaking to the owner, in a 
room with a ceiling so low pitched 
that our heads almost touched it, 
a swallow enter two or three times 
through a hole purposely left for 
its admission over the door. With- 
out regarding either the number 
or the noise and motion of so many 
persons in this small room, it con- 
tinued its operation of building a 
nest, although within our reach, 
against one of the joists. It was 
impossible not to admire the acti- 
vity of this little animal ; tlie velo- 

• ilWOij Of 

city with which it went and re- 
turned; but, ahove all, the happy 
confidence which it seemed to en^^ 
joy in its security from molestation 
or injury. The owner of the shop 
entertained the superstition, which 
is common to all nations that are 
visited by this bird, and which is 
alluded to by Sophocles, concern-? 
ing the sanctity of his little guest, 
deeminor himself fortunate in beinij: 
thus honoured by one of yjpolld's 
messengers. He told us that the 
same swallow had annually visited 
him for many years, but that this 
year it came earlier than usual ; 
that it paid him handsomely for its 
lodging, its presence being cohsi- 
dered as a most fortunate omen, 
whereby customers were attracted 
to his shop vvheneVef the swallow 

:J 79lJ3d bi:<} UOY .oO 




As my lady is a subscriber 
to your Repository, I have an op- 
portunity of seeing it; and observ- 
ing sometime ago a reflection made 
by one of your correspondents — • 
*' that if servants were to he heard 
in their turn, they might also be 
found to have some cause of com- 
plaint;" I thought that my history 
would prove the truth of this re- 
flection, and I have taken the liber- 
ty to send you some account of it. 
My parents were very poor peo- 
ple, who had some difficulty to 
spare the money necessary to send 
nie to a day school; reading and 

• inih 'io 
writing were consequently the sum 
of my acquirements. My mother, 
who was very notable and indus- 
trious, took care to qualify me for 
service, l)ut I had the misfortune 
to lose her before I attained my 
sixteenth year; and my father sur- 
vived her only a few months. This 
severe loss rendered me for some 
weeksincapableof doing any thing; 
but an aunt to whose house I went 
on the death of my parents, soon 
reminded me of the necessity there 
was for my getting my bread, and 
as she had a cousin settled in Lon- 
don, she gave me a letter to her ; 
paid the expense of my journey 



to town out of the money prod need 
by the sale of my parents' few ef- 
fects, and I set out from home, 
with many charges to be a good 
girl, and many wishes for my suc- 
cess in gcttinj^ a situation. 

I wislied if 1 could to get a place 
as lady's maid, but my cousin told 
me, she feared my being a country 
girl might be an obstacle, and ad- 
vised me to go after a situation as 
housemaid ; and finding there was 
bneWanted at Mrs. Rigid's, I went 
fp offer myself. Mrs. Iligid, who 
was an old lady, put on her spec- 
(aqles and surveyed me for some 
time vvithuut speaking; at last siie 
asked me if I was not ashamed of 
myself to come after a housemaid's 
place dressed in such a ridiculous 
manner (my dress I should tell you, 
sir, wa§ a black stuff gown, a black 
silk handkerchief on my neck, and 
a straw bonnet with black ril)bons). 
" When I heard you was a country 
girl," juirsued Mrs. Iligid, "I was 
in hopes of seeing a decent com- 
fortable person, dressed as servants 
were in my young days, but instead 
of that you are as fine as any 
London madam of them all. " — "] 
will dress in whatever manner you 
please, ma'am," replied I, "if you 
will have the goodness to take me 
into your service." — " Not I, in- 
deed !" cried she; "there are places 
that may suit you, but I am sure 
mine is not one of them." I at- 
tempted to reply, but she angrily 
ordered me to get about mv busi- 
ness, and I returned to my cousin 
very much dejected. She desired 
me not to make myself uneasy, for 
she was pretty sure I should not 
meet with another lady who would 
find fault with my dress ; and as 
there was a children's maid wanted 

at Doctor Doublefee's, I went after 
the situation immediately. 

I was shewn into an elegant 
apartment, where Mrs. Doublefee 
sat reading; she turned round on 
my entrance, and surveying me 
with a look of contempt, "Pray, 
young woman," cried she, " what 
do you want.?" I stammered out, 
that I came to offer myself as chil- 
dren's maid. "Then you have ;i 
great deal of assurance," said she ; 
"do you suppose I should suffer 
m^' children to be waited ujion by 
such a vuliiar-lookinji, ill-dressed 
creature as you } Why I should be 
ashamed to see my scullion in such 
clothes; a rusty old siuil" gown, 
and a nasty coarse straw bonnet!" 
— "They are my best at present, 
ujadam," replied I, " but I will l)uy 
others, if you wish it." — "What, I 
suppose you think then, that if you 
had one decent suit of clothes, that 
would be sufficient for a place like 
mine! I never saw so ujuch brass 
in niy life. Go, you had better of- 
fer your services at a public-house; 
'lis the only place you are fit for." 
I was too much dismayed to attempt 
any further excuse, and I returned 
almost in despair. 

One would suppose I had been 
asking charity instead of a service, 
from the difficulty I had in getting 
a place. Some ladies thouglit me 
tooyoung; others were afraid 1 was 
not smart enough; some told me 
they were determined never to take 
country girls, because they had 
had several, who all turned out ve- 
ry bad : others preferred country 
girls, but then they must have liveil 
two or three years in service in 
the country. At last, when I was 
beginning to despair, I heard of a 
situation as attendant on two ) ounjj 



ladies, sisters, and although the 
place was said to be a very hard 
one, I went after it directly. As 
soon as I entered the room where I 
they were sitting, the youngest said I 
to her sister, " Why, Lord ! Har- 
riet, this girl's a mere country 
dowdy, and I am certain she is good 
for nothing." — " How do you know | 
what she is good for r" replied Miss 
Harriet. : "Come here, child, and i 
let me speak to you." Siie then 
began to inquire what I could do; 
but I was so frightened at what her 
sister had said, that I gave a very 
poor account of myself: neverthe- 
less, she hired me, more I believe 
out of opposition to her sister, than 
from any other motive. 

I went home the following day 
quite elated to think that I had got 
a place at last ; and as I knew that 
I really could do every thing that 
Miss Harriet required of n)e, 1 was 
resolved to convince her sister, that 
the country dowdy u as fit for some- 
thinsr. But before I had been a 
week in rny place, I saw, clearly 
that it would be impossible for me 
ever to give satisfaction to my two 
mistresses, for whenever the one 
gave me any thing to do, the other 
was sure to set me about something 
else. I had agreed to wait upon 
them both, to wash all their small 
linen, and do what needle^work I 
could at my leisure. Miss Sophia, 
the youngest, having taken a dis- 
like to me, complained continually 
that every thing I did for her was 
wrong: if I dressed her, she had 
not patience with my awkwardness ; 
whatever pains I took in getting 
up her muslins, she never found 
them fit to be worn, and she pro- 
tested I did not do one quarter of 
the needle-work she wanted. Miss 

Harriet was displeased with me, be- 
cause she thought I paid more at- 
tention to her sister than to herself. 
"It was always tiie way," she said, 
"that she was imposed upon bv 
servants; these creatures knew the 
easiness of her temper, and they 
took advantao^e of if but she was 
determined to be no longer a cy- 
pher, but to have proper attention 
paid to her orders." It was in vain 
for me to say, that I wished to <lo 
every tlniig in my power to please 
her, she constantly declared I did 
not take the least pains to do it; 
and at the end of six months she 
discharged me, because, she said, 
I atided insolence to ingratitude, 
in declaring it was not my fault if 
I did not give satisfaction. 

As my place had been truly un- 
comfortable, I was not very sorry 
to lose it; but I resolved, tl'.at, in 
taking another, I would be careful 
to have but one mistress. In a few 
days I was engaged as maid to Mrs. 
Tempest, who told me when she 
hired me, that 1 sliould find her a 
good mistress, if I deserved it, but 
I must not mind being scolded now 
and then, for sbe was rather pas- 
[ sionate. As I had been scolded 
I continually for six months before, 
I thought I should be very well off 
j in being scolded only now and then, 
and I went home in very good spi- 
rits. For a whole week my mis- 
tress behaved so kindly to me, that 
I thought myself the luckiest crea- 
ture in the world; but one day 
having the misfortune to break a 
smelling-bottle, it puther into such 
a passion, that she snatched up a 
heavy china water-jug, and threw 
it at me. Luckily it missed roe, 
but I was so terrified, that although 
she condescended to say she was 



sorry for it, I quitted lier the next 

Mrs. Tlirifty, my next lady, 
made souic difllculty uf enj^iif^ing 
mo, bec-iuse i wished to siipulate 
for leave to go to church, and some- 
tiines to see my cousin : with re- 
spect to the first, however, she said 
she would spare me wlien it suited 
lier convenience (which 1 must ob- 
serve was only once durin<j!; nine 
months that I lived with her) ; hut I 
as to the latter, she neither allowed 
her servants to go out, nor to have 
any followers. This lady, who was 
rather in years, and had no family, 
was very notable, and as she fre- 
quently said, that idleness was the 
mother of mischief, she took care 
to keep every body about her em- 
ployed. Finding that I was a good 
jieedle-woman, she gave nic jdenty 
of work, and from six in tlie morn- 
ing till eleven or sometimes twelve 
at nijiht, I laboured without inter- 
mission. However, aS my mistress 
was not ill tempered, and sometimes 
encouraged me by saying I did more 
needle-work than any other ser- 
vant she had had, I bore the hard- 
ships of my place very well. 
*' One day while I was sitting at 
'work in my lady's dressing-room, 
mv master entered, and asked where 
she was. I told him, 1 believed in 
the drawing-room, and inquired 
whether I sliould lot her know that 
he wanted her. "No," cried he, 
"my business is with you: 'tis a 
shame that so fine a girl as you 
are, should be labouring in this 
manner ffom morning till night; 
'*rhtitea. plan in my head to render 
von more comlortahle." I replied, 
■;that 1 was ns well off as I wished 
**tb be, and f turned directly to leave 
the room. He got between me 

To/. //. No. Vll. 

and the door, and attempted to 
catch me in hisarms. I repulsed him 
very angrily, and at this mooient 
u)y mistress came out of her bed- 
chamber, which communicated with 
the dressing-room. My master va- 
nished in a moment, and she began, 
with passion, to abuse me in ilie 
most violent terms : I was a vile 
dissembling hussy, an artful hypo- 
crite ; this was my sanctity, forsooth, 
to inveigle a marrifd man I but she 
never knew any pretenders to re- 
ligion but what were wicked in 
their hearts. However, she had 
heard all that passed, and she would 
take care that 1 should not gain 
admission into another family, to 
disturb the peace of it, as I 
done her's. "If you heard what 
passed, madam," cried I, "you 
must know that I am not in fault, 
and that the blame is entirely my 
master's." At these words her 
passion rose beyond all bounds. 
"Was there ever such insolence!" 
cried she, "to dure to blame your 
master! as if all men will not take 
liberties with such forward, vile 
creatures as you are." She ran on 
in this manner till she was out of 
bfeath, and then throwing me my 
wages, she desired I would take 
my rags, and get out of her house 

I went immediately to IMrs. Tem- 
pest, who had the goodness, on 
hearing my story, to say she would 
get me a situation ; which she very 
soon did, with a widow lady, who 
told me when she engaged me, that 
she wanted little personal attend- 
ance, and did not require needle- 
work ; but she wished to have a 
trusty ])erson who would act as 
I housekeeper, and on whom she 
' could depend to let nothing be \vast-» 



ed in the family. This last part of 
my office, however, was a sinecure, 
for she took care to keep her house 
in such a manner that we should 
have nothing to waste. She made 
it her business to know the very 
lowest prices of all sorts of provi- 
sions, and as she bought every thiii.^ 
for ready money, she always took 
care before I went to market, to 
tell me what each article was to 
cost; and as I did not dare to ex- 
ceed the price she mentioned, I 
was in general obliged to buy the 
worst of every thing, and my mis- 
tress was in consequence always 
dissatisfied with me. She never 
saw such bad provisions, she said, 
in her life; it was impossible for 
her to eat such trash, it wns only 
lit for dojjs. If I told her it was 
because I was fixed to a price, she 
insisted upon it, that I might have 
purchased the best meat, &,c. for 
the same money : but she supposed 
I was too fine a lady to try to get 
bargains; I did not care hov^r dear 
I bought every thing, because they 
cost me nothing; and sometimes 
.^he has asked me, whether I was 
quite sure that I really gave that 
price for the article. As I had been 
brought up in the strictest princi- 
ples of honesty, I was much mor- 
tified at these speeches, and one 
day I could not help saying, that 
if she suspected me, she did wrong 
to suffer me to lay out her money. 
This speech produced such tart re- 
proaches for my pertness, that I 
burst out a-crying. My mistress 
ordered me to quit the room, and 
not make myself so ridiculous ; she 
had said nothing that ought to hurt 
piy feelings, if 1 was innocent, and 
she had no notion of servants af- 
fecting sensibility. 

Thoroughly dissatisfied with my 
situation, I now began to inquire_ 
for another. " Miss MeanvvcU.v^auts. 
a servant," said one of o^fifAiles-^ 
people to me, "but 1 don't think 
you would like the place; sheis,aiv 
old maid, keeps very little eomp^^-r_. 
ny, and I fancy is either poor or. 
stingy." Notwithstanding this un-^ 
promising account, I waited., 9A_ 
Miss Meanwell, who engaged me, 
directly. It is now more than ten, 
years, sir, and I have^ lived wijtb; 
her ever since, and shall, I hope>- 
continue to do so till my deatlv or. 
hers. I have not what most ser- 
vants would call a good place, for 
my wages are small, and as my 
mistress dresses in the plainest man- 
ner, I have few perquisites ; but 
she always treats me kindly: if 
through mistake or inattention, her 
orders are not properly executed, 
she reproves me, but without seve- 
rity. She told me when she en- 
gaged me, that as she kept only 
two servants, I should have some 
things to do which perhaps I had 
not been accustomed to, and she 
never suffered her servants to say, 
"It is not my place," or, " I was 
not hired to do that :" but as she 
is very regular and methodical, I 
soon learned the duties of my sta- 
tion, and it happened sometimes 
that I did more than was expected 
froni me; whenever that was the 
case, I was sure to be commended,- 
and to receive some little reward, 
not money, but some trifle that 
would be useful to me, or perhaps 
a book calculated for servants. My , 
mistress allows me to go regularly 
to church, and now and then I have 
leave given me, to ask my cousin . 
to come and see me, or else I go 
to see ber- Soon after I went to 



live with Miss Meanwell, I was ( who, if they were treated as I am, 
taken dangerously ill, and slie had i could be wholly insensible of the 
herself the goodness not only to kinthicss shewn to them: but I can- 
see that there was proper cure taken not help thinking that we are like 
of me, but even to pass an hour or children — excessive indulgence, or 
two at a time in my room. She ' too great severity, is equally pre- 
thinks I have shewn my gratitude judicial to us; and there are few 
by refusing to leave lier to live with mistresses who, like Miss Mean- 
Mrs. Flareit, whose woman has the I well, take care to avoid the one and 
most easy and lucrative place in J the other. 

town; but I would not change to 
serve a princess ; and 1 believe, sir, 

In the hope that you will pardon 
my boldness in troubling you with 

that, discontented and fond of | this long letter, I remain, sir, your 

changing as servants in general I very humble servant, 

are acetised of being, tliere arefew 1 Susan Strivewcll. 


S^v^^fr^-ears since a benevolent j' who am I ?" — " I don't know.'* — 
old 'nniiV ViSJwaiking out toward^ i " Then you should l;avc asked." — 
the Spf^\<^el1)erg, nenr llalbcvstadt. ij " In that case 1 should not have 
UC" niet by tlie way a girl about jj been ol)edient. My father pu- 
sevet> years of age. "Father,"! nishes disobedience with the tb.ird 
said the child, " be pleased to give rod." — "The third! how many 
me a halfpenny !" — " A halfpenny ! I, rods has he then .?" — " He has one 

what would you do with a halfpen- 
ny ?" — " Buy a bit of bread with 
it."—*' A bit of bread ! what, are 
you so very hungry r" — " 1 have 
had nothing to eat since the day 
before yesterday." — " Surely that 
must be a fib; your red chubby 
cheeks tell a different story." — 
" Indeed it is no fib; my father 
once beat me till 1 was half dead 
on account of one."—" What is 
your father r" — "A button-maker." I 
— " His name?"—" Lindner."—! 
" W^hefe does he live ?"— " In the 
High-street." — " Go and tell Iiim I 

for every class of faults."—" Go 
and fetch your father, and I," 
seating himself upon a piece of 
timber near the pepper-mill, " will 
wait here till he comes." 

The girl ran, and soon returned 
with her father, a handsome man 
in the prime of life. " Is that your 
child r" — " What is your motive 
for inquiring?" — " She asked mg 
to ffive her somethinfTi and becTGino- 
is prohibited." — " I have seven 
children, and have not sufficient to 
maintain one." — "No! are you not 
a button-maker?" — " Yes, and for 

to have the goodness to come to! that very reason because I am a 
n>e." j button -maker I have nothing to 

The girl set ofV; but the old man do. People have, unfortunately 
called lifer back. " You little I for us, given up wearing such but- 
goosecap," said he, " to whom | tons as we make. We have no^ 
would" yau' tell yoilr father to other resource. All the button- - 
come ■^"—" To vou, sir." — " And 'i makers must be reduced to beg- 

E 2 



gavy." — *' It is a pily : as you seem 
to understand so well liow to bring 
up chiUlren, suppose you were to 
turn schoolmaster?" — " School- 
master ! why, I cannot read ; I was 
kept from wy youlii to work, and 
never learned any thing but button - 
making. God have mercy upon 
me, with a dear wife and seven chil- 
dren!" — " Have you not repre- 
sejUed your case to the assessor, 
and applied to him for relief?" — 
*' I cannot creep and cringe. We 
have already parted with all we 
had; my wife has stripped herself 
of every thing, from her jewels to 
her shift. It is a fortnight since 
we parted with our last farthing, 
and are now living upon bread and 
^vater."— " Is all this true?"— 
"You may believe me; it is but 
too true." — " Father," cried the 
child, " it is not true; w^e have not 
a morsel of bread." 

The old man hastily rose. 
" Come !" said he, and went with 
them to the town. He saw the pa- 
rents shed tears over their seven 
starving children ; he found all that 
had been told him literally true, 
and fell for the situation of the 
poor man who could neither read 
nor write. He entered into con- 
versation with him on his mode of 
bringing up his children, and was 
delighted with the soundness of 
his notions. '' 1 have thought it 
useful," said he, " to keep a parti- 
cular rod for every kind of fault, 
that the cliildrcn might learn to dis- 
tinguish between them, and guard 
. against each individuallj". They will 
not tell lies, for with the rod ap- 
propriated to lying, I have accus- 
tomed them to spi ak the trutli." 

" There, child, go and buy 
bread," said the stranger, putting 

some money into the hand of the 
girl who had occasioned this visit ; 
" but make haste back, and be sure 
not to tell any body, that an old 
man is at your father's." The girl 
ran as fast as she could ; and the 
father was overjoyed that, for one 
day at least, he had wherewitii to 
satisfy his famishing wife and cliii- 
dren. " Oh, sir," said he to the 
stranger, " you are ati angel of 
God 1" The child returned with 
the bread, of wliich the hungry fa- 
mily partook. The old man en- 
tered into conversation with the 
mother and children. He took a 
particular fancy to one of the boys 
named Charles. " Come with me," 
said he to the boy; " your father 
will give you leave." The stranger 
walked away; the boy followed; 
and father, mother, brothers, and 
sisters, looked after them till they 
were out of sight. The old man 
returned to the pepper-mill, with- 
out speaking to the boy by the 
way, and seating himself again 
upon t!)e timber, wrote with his 
pencil upon a piece of paper, 
which he gave to his young com- 
panion, spying. " Carry it to your 
I father." 'The boy ran with all 
possil.ile speed, and obeyed his di- 
rection. The father, ashamed that 
he could not read what was written 
upon the paper, carried it to a 
neighbour, a baker, to learn the 
purport of it. The words were 
these: — " Until such buttons as 
are nuxde by the button-makers 
come into fashion again, Lindner, 
the button-maker, shall receive- 
four groschen (sixpence) per day." 
Lindner lost no time to run after 
tl>e stranger, for the purpose of 
expressing his gratitude; but he 
could neither see nor hear any 



thing of his henefactor. Pour tUi)f> 
aftcruarils lie received, hy coach, 
305 Ibur-groschen pieces, and the 
I'oHou'ing year, on the same day, 
the like sum. It has now been re- 
gularly transmitted tor seven suc- 
cessive years. I\Ietal buttons are 
still in fashion ; the old juan is not 
discovered; and as he has so well 
contrived to remain concealed, and 
consequently wishes to be so, I 
would earnestly entreat our collec- 
tors of anecdotes, who take such 

|;ains tospy out and trumpet abroad 
every good action, to give them- 
selves no concern about this old 
nian. They would doubtless only 
spoil his pleasure, for they have 
already seen that he has no wish to 
be called an angel of God. 

This story is related by the Ger- 
man poet Gleim, and, to his ho- 
nour, we are enabled to add, that he 
was himself the old man who fic-ures 
in it — a fact that was not known till 
after his death. 


So early as the year 970 the 
king's customs were principally 
collected at Billingsgate, and then 
to no considerable amount ; as even 
in 1268, the half-year's customs for 
foreign merchantlize in tlie city of 
London came only to 75/. Gs. lOd. 
In the year 1383 a custom-house 
was built by John Churchman on 
the site of tlie late edifice, thougJ! 
at that time, and long after, the 
customs were collected in different 
parts of the city. About 1559, the 
loss to the revenue being discover- 
ed, an act was passed to compel 
persons to land their goods in such 
places as were appointed by the 
commissioners of revenue; and a 
new Custom- House was erected. 
In 1590, towards the close of the 
reign of Elizabeth, the customs 
amounted to 50,000/. : at first they 
had been farmed to Sir Thomas 
Smith at 14,000/. a year; after- 
v.ards at 42,000/.; and finally at 

In lb41, just before the begin- 
ning of the civil troubles of the 
country, the customs brought in 
500,000/. a year ; but the broils in ] 
which it was involved, had reduced 

them, at the period of the Restora- 
tion, about 110,000/. yearly. The 
average nett customs paid into the 
Exchequer in the last years of 
William III. was 417,186/.; during 
the wars of Anne 1,257,332/.; the 
first of George I. 1,588,162/.; of 
George II. 1,621,731/.; the first 
'[ year of George III. 1,969,934/. ; in 
1781, 2,745,2u0/. ; an.i in four years, 
from 1802 to 1805, botli inclusive, 
the real annual average value of 
imports was 53,240,000/. The real 
annual average of foreign goods 
and British manufactures exported 
in four years, from 1802 to 1805, 
was 56,611,000/. In the year 1784, 
the shipping in the merchants' ser- 
vice belonging to Great Britain 
and her colonies, not including 
Ireland, was 1,301,000 tons, navi- 
gated by 101,870 seamen. In 1805 
it had increased to 2,226,000 tons; 
navigated by 152,642 seamen ; and 
the real value of the exports of 
British manufactures, wliich were 
in 1784 18,603,000/. had in 1805 
increased to 41,068,000/. The pro- 
duce of our fisheries, whicli in 1784 
was of the value of 129,000/. had in 
1805 increased to 484,000/. 



The Custora-House erected at 
the commencement of Queen Eli- 
zabeth's reign having been de- 
stroyed by the great contiagrution 
in 1666, another fabric rose in its 
place, at an expense of 10,000/. 
This structure was also burned 
down on the 13th January, 1715, 
togetherwith 120 houses inThanies- 
street ; on which occasion fifty per- 
sons perished in the flames. It was 
again rebuilt in a substantial man- 
ner of brick and stone, and upon a 
noble scale, the whole edifice being 
189 feet in length ; but this, like its 
predecessors, was destined to be- 
come a prey to the flames, by 
which it was totally consumed on 
the 12th of February, J 814. 

Prior to this event, the Custom- 
House was found to be inadequate 
to the vast increase of commercial 
business ; and as the term of its in- 
vestment in trustees for the crown, 
at a rent of 1960/. per annum, was 
about to expire, the government, 
at the suggestion of the Board of 
Customs, abandoned the idea of 
making additions to the old budd- 
ing, and directed a new Custom- 
House to be erected on a piece of 
ground adjoining to the former, 
between it and Billingsgate. This 
ground had become, in great part, 
vacant by a fire in May, 1808, and 
for this purpose an act of parlia- 
ment was passed in 1812 : accord- 
ingly plans were prepared for a 
building on a magnificent scale, 
and of a very classic design, the 
first stone of which was laid, with 
the usual ceremonies, at the south- 
east corner of the proposed build- 
ing, on the 25th of October, 1813. 
This building is great in its fea- 
tures of design, and substantial in 
the dimensions of its parts, and the 

genuine taste with which the south 
front in particular is designed, is 
highly honourable to the abilities 
of Mr. Laing, the architect: but, 
unfortunately, the situation is not 
favourable to a display or to an in- 
spection of its merits ; for the gran- 
deur of the outline cannot be suffi- 
ciently seen, owing to the compa- 
ratively confined terrace or quay in 
front of it, to the crowd of ship- 
ping that of necessity intervenes 
between this and the opposite sliore, 
from which it could best be view- 
ed ; while this shore affords no fur- 
ther temptation, were it otherwise, 
to induce the visit of tlie architec- 
tural amateur. The front is of 
Portland stone, and consists of an 
Ionic superstructure, sui)ported by 
a basement, and finished by an at- 
tic. The centre of the building 
contains the great room, wliich is 
lighted by nine large arched win- 
dows; the central entrance beneat't 
is by flights of steps on each side ; 
and a projecting portion of the 
basement sustains recumbent fi- 
gures of Ocean and Commerce. 
The attic of the centre is decorat- 
ed by a fine bas-relief 200 feet 
lon-j;, with fissures 5 feet 6 inches 
high, representing our commercial 
alliances, and executed by Mr. 
Bubb. Above this is a group of 
figures representing Industry and 
Ingenuity, supporting a dial. 

The wings, if they may so be 
called, being symmetrical com- 
partments of the front, to wliich all 
the above forms a centre, contains 
each a centre of insulated columns 
of the Ionic order ; and in its height 
an additional story is introduced, 
without injury to the continuity of 
the lines of the cornices and irh-' 
posts, vrhich are here essential fed- 



tures of the composition : and 
great care has been taken to guard 
against a recurrence of those tle- 
structive accidents, which liave gi- 
ven so many awful warnings to the 

Though ail the desired results of 
so fine a, building towards esta- 
blishing the architectural reputa- 
tion of the country, cannot be ex- 

pected, from its crowded situation^ 
yet its eH'ect from the entrance of 
the metropolis over London bridge 
is very striking; and foreigners, 
who visit the port of London, on 
viewing it, must speak with respect 
of our architectural talent, and of 
the magnificence of this national 


Having received Cornelia's per- 
mission to make such use of the 
communications I mentioned in my 


No. VII. 

Fi'lices ter, et ainpl:u^, 

Quos iri'upta tenet cojuilu; nee mnlis 
Divulsus querimoniis, 

Siipi emu citiiis solvet amor die.— —HoR. lib. i. nd. 13. 

Tims loppy tliey in pure deliglits 
>\ linn) love with equal boiitJs unites^ 
Unbroken by complaints or strife, 
E'tn to the latest hours of life. 

porting any notion that may have 
a tendency to diminish the influence 
of th-e iirst of duties, that which 

last paper, as may suit my purpose, |l we owe to our parents, I am con- 
I proceed to give an extract, which I vinccd, the tnore the mind is cul- 

will, I flatter myself, be considered 
as containing very useful instruc- 
tions to such of my female readers 
as may be in the situation to which 
they appear very forcibly to apply. 
M ado in, 

Innumerable arc the evils 
which result from that want of for- 
titude and strength of mind, which 
the generality of the female sex 
appear more disposed to enervate 
and destroy, than to cherish and 

tivated and improved, the more 
susceptible it will become of all its 
obligations, and especially of this 
most sacred of thein. A child is 
certainly most undutiful, when she 
rashlv and precipitately forms a 
connection with any one of the 
other sex which has not received 
the sanction of parental approba- 
tion ; and it may be suspected, 
without any prejudging severity, 
that she w ho has failed in her duty 
as a daughter, may not prove al- 

cultivate. A rational being ought to2;cther amiable in the discharge 

surely to be capable of thinking, 
judging, and acting for herself: 
she ought to understand the full 
force and circuoiference of her du- 
ties; and knowing them, to prefer 

of her duties as a wife. Romantic 
ideas, and the al)sence of due re- 
flection which they generally pro- 
duce, are as^ apt to mislead the 
young, as too great an attention to 

to every other consideration, the' interest is to govern the old. 
dictates, of reasoi> and the sugges- I After representing the misery 
lioni pf cousjqeuGe* Ear from sup- and, it may surely be added, the 



wickedness ot a young woman ac- 
companying a man to tbe altar who 
does not possess her affections, that 
I may not add to the illusions of 
sentiment, it becomes me to ob- 
serve the folly of a romantic at- 
tachment which too many misses 
profess to feel for their future hus- 
bands. Esteem, founded on the 
knowledge of a man's character 
and qualifications, and gratitude 
for his decided preference, will be 
sufficient to ensure happiness, as 
;jsuch principles will promote the 
performance of every requisite du- 
ty uith alacrit)' and pleasure. Such 
a rational affection must ever be 
n)ore consistent, because it will be 
more permanent, than a violent 
passion, which, while it promises 
so much delight, affords so little, 
x)r, at most, so short a continuance 
of it. At the same time, to suffer 
pecuniary advantages to dazzle 
Tvith their failacious glare, is to vio-^ 
laie every generous feeling of the 
heart: for what motive can; be so 
base and so abject, as to sacrifice 
the purest of our affections, and 
to yield up the n^ost delicious pro- 
spect of life and happiness, to the 
demon of wealth ^ 

External circumstances also have 
their allurements; the charms of 
wit and the fascination of manners, 
will sometimes turn the attention 
from more solid qualities: this de- 
ception is a t;ame which is every 
day playing in the world, and too 
often succeeds; but they who trust 
totheir imagination, instead of their 
reason, will never fail to be losers 
in it. Good sense and right prin- 
ciples in a husband will form the 
best security of the real happiness 
of matrimonial life. Virtue, piety, 
and benevolence, are the firmest 

: bonds for lasliiig attachment. VVkh 
I these, though the charms of ilie 
person may fade, though sickness 
and age may diminish and in time 
destroy the exteriors of loveliness 
and grace, affection will continue 
warm and faithful, till the heart that 
feels it beats no more. Romantic, 
novel-reading j'onng women may, 
unfortunately for themselves, think 
otherwise ; but the truth is, and a 
woful experience may bring it 
home to their conviction when it is 
too late, that the man who makes 
a sacrifice of duty and prudence, 
and consequently reason, to what 
he terms a violent and irresistible 
attachment, gives but a transient 
promise of that solid and perma- 
nent regard, without which 'Hy- 
men's torch emits but a glaring 
light to decorate a ceremony, and 
then is extinguished. ; i,^l;i>iit>f^<j: 

But to come to the iB^ire 'parti- 
cular object pf this paper, and 
which the narrative that follows is 
intended to illustrate. It is among 
the nearest and dearest interests 
of female life, to cultivate right 
notions as to the proportionate si- 
tuations qf those who accompany 
each other to the altar. Unequal 
ma^ch'Cs seldom are found to an- 
§\yeri» ifl t^ojnt of happiness, to the 
expectations which a soi'did inter- 
est holds forth as the probable re- 
sult of them ; for it is too often 
found, in examining the result of 
marriages where beauty, personal 
accomplishments, and the extrava- 
gant passion of the lover, have 
produced such an union as is here 
understood, that the want of do- 
mestic union is not compensated 
by the luxuries of fortune and the 
splendour of station. The follow- 
ing story, that is unhappily foond- 



ed ii) fact, luo Uuly tNemplifiPs 
the vvretcliedness which often re- 
snhsfrom matrinionial connections, 
foruietl without a due degree of 
preconsiderate attcniion to pro- 
})ortioiuitc situation or fortune, anil 
without well weighing the possibi- 
liiy, or rather the probid)ility, of 
hen)g elevated to the coronet of a 
liushai^-d, and at the same time 
feeling that these unexpected ho- 
nours add nothing to th.e solid hap- 
piness of life — that, in the language 
of our great poet, " she may be no 
countess in her heart." 

Caroline possessed the 

advaiuages that are derived from 
great beauty and solid understand- 
ing. Her parents, though in a si- 
tuation of life that tlid not arise 
nuicli above mediocrity, were vir- 
tuous and noble-minded; and, 
persuaded thataccomplisments and 
a cultivated mind were preferal)le 
to whatever mere fortune can ofl'er, 
they made the utmost sacrifices 
their property would allow lor their 
daughter's education. They, how- 
ever, were amply answered by her 
acquirements, which decorating as 
they did the charms of her person, 
she attracted general admiration; 
while the superior sweetness of her 
character, ajid the predominating 

iroodness of her heart, secured to 

her the warmest re<iard of all who 

• '\ 

had the opportunity ol becoming 

acquainted with them. || 

Kdwaru (for l)y that name I must 

be contented to distinguish him) 

was the only son of a rich and noble 

family, ami liaving by cliance seen 

the young ladv alreadv described, 

was so much struck by the charms 

of her ])ers()n, as to make those 

inquiries concerning her, which 

induced him to forin an acquaint- ' 

I'ol. IL Ao. f II. 

ance with her father. This brought 
on tliose frieiullv communications, 
which induced so warm an attach- 
ment on his rart, that he made the 
lather of the amiable Caroline the 
most honourable proposals for his 
daughter ; but thatdisinterested and 
respectable gentleman, who dis- 
dained to take advantage of what 
he conceived to be the mere infa- 
tuation of an unreflecting passion, 
replied in terms which left Edward 
without the most distant hope of 
obtaining his consent. " If you 
were at liberty to dispose of your- 
self," he said, " I might accede to 
your wishes ; hut you have a father, 
whose consent is as necessary to 
such an union as mine; and you 
must be sensible that he will never 
be brought to consent to such an 
unequal alliance, and so opposite 
to all the plans he has formed for 
your future establishment." This 
refusal overwhelmed the young 
nobleman with grief and disap- 
pointment. It happened, howevejr, 
that the death of his father, very 
shortly iifter, allowed him the li- 
berty of openly avowing his choice, 
and revived all his former hopes. 
He accordingly renewed his appli- 
cation, am! the lather referred the 
proposal to tlie will of his ilaugh- 
tcr; and when it was made to her, 
she repiieil to the following effect : 
-^'* Your high, mv lord, your 
great tiossessions aiul acknowlcired 
merit, give you a claim to the most 
brilliant alliance; and, as I under- 
stand your family has qever been 
sullied by what your friends, and 
most probably the world at large, 
would thinlv a degrading connec- 
tion, would not a marriage with me 
be considered as a derogation of 
your name' If, uidoed, the virtue:* 



of my parents could compensate 
for rank and riches, you would not 
have to blush for my birth. I could 
contrive, indeed, to make out 
something of a remote genealogy, 
but I scorn to employ the shadow 
of misrepresentation ; and I see 
but one way of proving myself 
sensible of the honour you do me, 
and the regard which you have 
condescended to manifest towards 
uie, which is by refusing your haiid, 
and thereby preventing you from 
doing an act, which, in the eye of 
the world, to which you owe much, 
and the opinion of your famil}- and 
proud connections, to which you 
owe more, must produce that dis- 
approbation, and perhaps discord, 
whose eft'ects I cannot but foresee, 
and must create severe mortifica- 
tion to you, and consequent misery 
to us both. At the same time I do 
not hesitate to acknowledge, that I 
am so sensible of your virtues, as j 
to lament that inequality of condi- 
tion that separates us ; but so it is, 
and generous as your proposals 
are, my determination is to refuse 
them. Thus I prove, at least, that 
my generosity is equal to your 

These sentiments, instead of 
checking the noble lover's pur- 
suit, gave it additional ardour ; he 
persevered, and she at length re- 
lented. " But," said she, " the 
day may come, perhaps, when you 
will reproach my too ready com- 
pliance: weigh well, therefore, the 
nature of an engagement, that in a 
few days may be rendered indisso- 
luble, and which may be succeeded 
by years of unavailing repentance; 
but if you are resolved to iionour 
pie with your name, remember, at 
]east— yes, I charge von to re- 

member, that my consent was wrung 
from me by your irresistible- eff-'' 
treaties." - --'s"-"' '^'- 

They were married : \\\s ia^tt'vAf 
deeply resented the connec3ti(in, ' 
and ambition succeeded to love in'' 
the breast of Edward ; so that, '18 
gratify his subsequent emotions, to 
sooth the irritation of his friends,^ 
and to make amends for what lie" 
now considered as the effect of 
early folly and an inconsiderate 
passion, he determined on a sep'd*-^ 
ration. She had already borne 
much with superior patience, but 
this affliction she could not sup- 
port: her fortitude entirely forsook 
her ; her health was Undermined 
by grief, and at length the physi- 
cian thought it his duty to te'll her, 
that her time in this world w6uld 
be of short duration. This intelli- 
gence rather consoled than alarm- 
ed her. She desired, however, to 
see her lord, and, on his seating 
himself by the side of her bed, she 
thus addressed him : — 

" I have but a few words to ut- 
ter, and they will be my last. Your 
happiness has ever been my first 
object, since, by your fond 'tHA 
most earnest entreaties, I wasunit- 
ed to 30U. This you well know; 
but, notwithstanding the ardour 
and purity of my attachment to 
you, a determination has arisen in 
your mind to break the solemn 
engagement you made with me at 
the altar, and from which death 
will soon release you. Life was 
only valuable to me, becausie 1 
thought it essential to your Irappi- 
ness; but as it has for sortie tittie 
appeared to be considered by you 
as a source of misery, I bless Hea- 
ven that it is about to deprive irie 
of it. As it is no longer dea^ to 

A//'"£ r//f//^-// /,'j /'///. t' 

///■/// 7 ' Jfr\ ■/'/ ■ , C ////I 


jd fke of saxokx 

) -v/'////'r/7' ^ y/z./r (,>,^:yv//y/- ////////•/^/ 

/<'//// -y , /:>/// '^ri'iurj '/r^/O, ^//A' ^^rA-erM,/////.v /Vf/wx/A'/r /■/ ; //•/.,-, //'/, . *;'/ v//,/ 



)'i>u, iC is become iasupportable to 
me; and that your happiness ma)' 
be restored when I am in my grave, 
is tlie last wish of a broken heart." 
This was a scene which seemed 
at once to renew all his former af- 
fection; but his promises of future 

amendment and compensating ten- 
derness were made in vain, his 
contrition came too late, and she 
died a fatal example of the misery 
which may arise from a union which 
reason disapproves. 




io JC'Oti'^^ 

:,JVt0ST of our readers, we pre- 
sivtiiCj. are acquainted with the 
principal events of the life of the 
ilJtistrjous subject of this article, 
and with the chief traits in the cha- 
racter of his highness, IVom the 
ample memoir given in Shoberl's 
deservedly popular Historical Ac- 
count of the. IJouiie of Saxoni/, just 
published by Mr. Ackeumann. In 
the following pages we shall, there- 
fore, a bstium from such points as 
have been treated of in ihut work, 
and confine ourselves to a few in- 
teresting particulars relative to his 
education and early habits, ex- 
tracted from the manuscript com- 
munication of an inielliffent cor- 
respondent at Dresden, who has 
been at considerable pains to col- 
lect authentic particulars concern- 
ing Prince Leopold. 
-, The chief merit of the educa- 
tion of this prince belongs to the 
privy-cuunsellor Hohnhaum. Tbis 
gentleman was in 1799 appointed 
teacher to Leopold and his two 
brothers, and consequently had the 
^Cm^i^yho was then between eight 

the means of strengthen ing- his 
constitution: he accustomed him 
to gymnastic exercises, proceed- 
ing from the easiest to the most se- 
vere ; not a moment was Iclt un- 
employed; and this system proveil 
so successful, that the prime was 
enabled, at a suljsequent period, to 
support, without difficulty, all the 
hardships and dangers of war. 

During his childhood the prince 
had no play-fellows; his two bro- 
thers were both too much older 
than iiimself, the one being his 
senior by seven, and the other by 
upwards of five years. It was, 
therefore, impossible to prevent 
them from sometimes exercisini^ 
the right of the stronger upon their 
younger brother, when he mixed 
in their youthful sports ; and this 
treatment was so far from accord- 
ing with Leopold's notions of riglit 
and justice, that he chose rather to 
seek diversion by himself. Till he 
was turned of nine years t»vo squir- 
rels were his chief anuisement : lie 
not only regularly fed and attend- 
ed to them, but had the curiosity to 

and.^.nine years old, constantly see what natural history had to say 
abcu^^ l)Lin. Me soon discovered i concerning his little favourites. 
jt|)^qjca{i(»5iity and good qualities of i| The accidental present of a pair of 
hi&papvl; attliesame tinie he could ',' pigeons next led him to makehiu)- 
.ijftlj^ibiiL perceive, that the prince \\ self acquainted with ihe peculiari- 
^/vj^Sry^pfh^if fclelicat.e. The tutor I ties of the different varieties of 
t\ie.if^i)rej<|i reeled his firs<. cares to '! birds of that family. These inno- 

F -2 



cent attachments were supplanted 
by a fondness for flowers, which he 
indulged in a garden that he rent- 
ed, and whicli led him into the ex- 
tensive field of botany. His pas- 
sion for tlvis science was, however, 
fer St excited so early as in his fifth 
year, by the contemplation of the 
prints in the natural history for 
children, published by the Indus- 
trie Comptoir at Weimar, which has 
produced so niany other useful 
works for the instruction of the 
'youthful mind. By his intimate 
acquaintance with botany, com- 
bined with his noble character and 
pleasing manners, he very strongl}' 
recommended himself to the Em- 
press Josephine during his first vi- 
sit to Paris. A connoisseur her- 
self, and possessing a collection of 
pUmts unrivalled upon the Conti- 
nent, she particularly distinguished 
Prince Leopold, and presented him 
\»'ith various rare articles out of her 
garden. The love of what is grand 
and beautiful in nature next led 
him to landscape-painting, in which 
he is a very great proficient, and 
for his skill in this art he is indebt- 
ed to himself alone ; for though his 
master, Rauschert, was celebrated 
in Germany, and England also, as 
a practical artist, yet he was defi- 
^i^enfc in theoretical knowled<^e, 
ami died before the prince had 
luade any great progress. \Vith 
these pleasing pursuits he com- 
bined the study of music, which 
lie learned with the same ease and 
celerity as every thing else to wliich 
lie addicted himself. 

The history of Saxony inspired 
Prince Leopold with a love of his- 
tory in general : from the history 
of his ancestors, which made a deep 
iOjpr;t:ssioi> ypon his mind, he pro- 

ceeded to that of th.c states con- 
nected with the history of ihe Sax- 
ons; and therefore studied at an 
early period of life the history af 
England, and conceived a decided 
predilection for the constitution, 
manners, and literature of tliiscoan- 
try. In the historyof Germany he was 
particularly struck uiih Schiller's 
History of tlie Thirty Years War. 
The noble and chivalrous spirit of 
the heroes described in that woxk 
animated his bosom; but the deeds 
of that champion of religious and 
political independence, Gustavus 
Adolphus, excited his highest en- 
thusiasm. In tlie contemplation of 
the life of this prince his lieart and 
imagination found a rich treat, and 
he often wished to be in the place 
of Gustavus Adolphus, that hfe 
might protect the rest of the Con- 
tinent from the despotisoi of Na- 
poleon. The young prince was 
often quite absorbed in these spe- 
culations, and when he fancied 
himself contending as Gustavus 
Adolphus for the liberties of Ger- 
many, he would sometimes affec- 
tionately call his faithful tutor 
Hohnbaum, his good Oxenstierna. 
From this time the prince began to 
read military works and to study 
ntatliematics, as necessary for his 
future destination. : Tiiough he at 
first found some difficulty in this 
science, yd he soon overcame anil 
made himself complete master of 
it. The languages he learned as 
he had occasion for them : here 
again he was infinitely less indebt- 
ed to formal instruction than to his 
own assiduity. He learned Latin 
at an early age; in his native lan- 
guage and Erench he has acquired 
extraordinary perfection ; of Rus- 
sian he made himself master so far 

wi;i>ic.\L It r. VIEW. 


as was necessary for liiiu as a Rus- , 
sjau general ; Englisli he learned I 
later, hut studied it with a diligence || 
and perseverance that soon over- jl 
icahie all the difficulties of that Ian- | 
guage. As the prince learned from 
early youth to l)e economiial ot his j 
ttnie, he was also hahituated to he 
frugal of his money : his tutor en- j 
couraged him to keep an account -I 
of his receipts and expences; he!! 
soon took upon himself the ma- || 
nagement of his money, and kepi t 
his accounts in the most regular i 
manner. 'J'hc poor never failed to 
share his bounty, and though he 
never c(Mitracted debts, he was far 
from penuri(;us. ! 

' A letter from the Rev. Mr. Hof- ! 
lenderji xiated 'Coburg, May 13, 
1816, says:— ."From 1797 to 1811 ; 
I was one of his tutors, ami for near 
foitrtecn years 1 gave him instruc- ; 
tion on every subject. In ttie iirst 
year 1 taught him biblical history, \ 
Christian niorality, religion, and tl.e 
history of Christianity. On the i 
l-2thof St-{>:eniber, 1805, tr.e prince 

was confirmed according to the cus- 
tom of the Lutheran church, and 
partook for the first time of the 
Holy Communion. What I said 
on this occasion before a numeroas 
assen)bl}', in my discourse previoirs 
to the confirmation, on the moral 
and religious character of i\\e 
prince, could not but tend to his 
conunendation, as he always ma- 
nifested the most serious attention 
to my instructions, and was not 
only ihorougliiy acquainted with 
the truths of our holy religion, but 
his heart was deeply penetrated by 

We could add the testinionies of 
other instructors of this amiable 
prince, if we were not convinced, 
that the preceding cliaractcr of him 
is more than sutlicient to authorize 
us to a!uici{)ate from his union with 
the heiress to the Fintisli throne, 
results equally concUicive to the 
welfare of the nation at large, and 
to the happiness of thytdistinguish- 
ed family of which he is become a 


The veleffratcd Air^ " Love has Ei/es,''^ ' 
arniii'^ed us a Ro/ido far the Pia- 
no-Forte, and dedicated to Mrs. , 
Biilinglo/t, by J. B. Cramer. Pr. 
3s. i 

In a preceding nuud>er we no- i 
ticed a work of Mr. Ries's on a ! 
thenie of Mr. Bishop's, and now 
we have to submit another air of 
the latter author as the foundation 
of a composition by Mr. Cramer. 
This adoption on the part of such 
distinguished masters cannot but 
prove highly flattering to the ori- 
ginal autlior of the th*;mes, espe- 


cially when he beholds his oft^pring" 
treated in a manner calculated to 
elicit new beauties and enhance 
still more its estimation. This is 
lully the case with the present ron- 
do. Mr. C. does not usher in his 
friend's child abruptly; a proper 
and indeed elegant introduction 
precedes its appearance, and the 
debut itself i> maile in holiday suit 
of the first cut and fashion, with 
tasteful trimmings of the most fan- 
ciful variety. To speak plaiidy, 
the rondo before us is in every re- 
spect worthy of the fame of its 



author; it exhibits, in an eminent 
degree, that infinite diversity of 
classic ideas, and that consummate 
chasteness of harmonic treatment, 
wjb^h vyill render Mr. C.'s name 
dear to future musical generations. 
No. 20. Istriau Jir, for the Pia/to- 
Forte, Harp, Flute, and Violon- 
cello, composed, and hiscrihed to 
the Hon. Miss Frances Jddington, 
by J. Mazzinghi. Pr. os. 
In the series of national airs 
composed and varied by Mr. M. for 
the four instruments above- nien- 
tioned, there is such a similarity in 
point of merit, and indeed of oe- 
iieral treatment, that much of what 
we have had occasion to notice in 
our account of preceding numbers, 
applies to the Istrian air before us. 
Its theme is gentle and chaste, and 
the variations display that unla- 
boured ease, which is the result of 
the matured talent and experience 
of the author. Among them we 
wer^, preferably pleased with var. 
2. /?. 2; the elegant variation for 
the harp, p. i; the mellowed flow 
of the demi-semiquavered passages, 
/>. 0; the able bass evolutions, p. 8; 
and the bustling and rich prepara- 
tions of the conclusion, p. 9. :^ 'r 
The Harmonic Miscellany, a Selec- 
': Hon of popular Rondos, Airs, S)-c. 
with f aviations for the Piaiio- 
Forte, composed hy the most fa- 
vourite Authors. No. II. Pr. 2s. 
This number of the Harmonic 
Miscellany contains the rondo be- 
longing to a sonata of Mr. Kalk- 
brenner's composition. It is, like 
many of that author's works, ani- 
mated and florid; and although 
mainly devised in a light style, yet 
some clever modulations and strik- 
iug e{fects infuse constant interest 
ifllo the wkole. Its signature is C 

major, hut that key, we must own, 
is not often visible; the second part 
of the subject setting out at once 
with three flats, and accidental 
sharps and flats in abundance be-,. 
ing introduced in the sequel; as* 
much as five at a time. The nu^- 
merous quick passages are highly, 
spirited and fanciful, so as to af- 
iord excellent practice foj;..iitl»&> 
n^ngers. .iciiosjRfioijr 

The popular original Courtship Dam^t 

of. the Russian Feasants, ^rrxing-ts 
.etifor the Piano- Forte, zeiUi^^u/i^ 

Introduction and Flute yJccompa-. 

niment, ad lib. composed hy F^,-^j-' 

Klose. Pr. 2s. 6d. 


An andante in B minor, and some- 
what in the ancient French .style, 
forms the introductiojK /yijej^^jp- 
gro which follows, bears the staiwp 
of national authentirity, and its 
motivo carries witli it a. ce-rtain? (J 
plonih, well calculated for the ex-- 
hibiiion of die talents of Madauje 
Mangin and Mons. Baptiste, who 
executed it at the Kin-i's Tlieatre. 
Bars 7 to 10 we should object to, 
did we not suppose them to be iji,-^; 
tegral parts of the national theme, 
which Mr. K. had to give for better 
fc»r worse. In p. 5, /. 3, however, 
where the}' are employed to travel 
successively through D major, D 
minor, and F major, they Imve led 
the author into some uncouth har- 
monies. In other respects we ob- 
serve in this allegro much diversity 
of interesting ideas and consider-, 
able neatness of arrangement: tb^ 
flute is introduced with effect, and 
where it seizes the melody, th^ 
piano-forte acts in proper support. 
The whole is lightsome and agree- 
able. ,,j 

Falentine's Day, or Henry gtyi jE^ 

TWflTy a favourite Duety -witi^jffjf 



'Jlccd'mpanimcnt for the Piano- 
■ Forte, composed by Sir John A. 
'J'Stievenson, Mus. Doc. Pr. 2s. 
*'This (liiet consists of two move- 
ments: an aiidantino, |, in which 

which equally meets the peculiar 
turn of the text. In the introduc- 
tory symphony {b. 5), and in one 
or two corresponding places, the 
bass and lower notes of the treble 

the two voices act alternately; and | move objectionably in two succtt'-!' 
an allegro, ^, for simultaneous ex- | sive fifths. 

eciition. Both are conceived \n\TUe celebrated Poem, ''Fare tliee 
the^tasteful style which distinguish- jj ue/l," zcritten by Loid Ih/ron, com- 
es most of Sir John's vocal produc- j' posec/ by J. Whitaker. Od. 

tions; sprightly, melodious, and per- 
fectly easy, notwithstanding the lit- 

This composition does not ap- 
pear to us to be sufficiently serious 

tie decorative passage-work which ! and [)athetic for the poem ; and the 
serves to lead to a showy conclu- voice, chiefly proceeding through 


" yj/i! ubif did 1 gather this delicate 
Floicer,'" n favourite Ballad, com- 
posed by r. Kmdin, Esq. as sung 
by Mrs. Salmon and Miss Unrt- 

dotted crotchets, is, in our o])inion, 
too plain and uniform in its pro- 
gress. This aside, there is luuch 
pleasing melody in the several 
strains ; the ideas are select, and 

Itttt, iiith the greatest applause, oi' } the accompaniment, evidently dei-' 

the London and Bath Concerts. 

Pr. Is. 6d. 

We consider this a promising 
specimen of amateur-composition. 
The harmony, in some instances, 
might have admitted of iniprove- 
metit, and in the bass in general a 
less plain treatment would huve 
been desirable; but the melody is 
pleasing, and one or two passages 
particularly distinguish themselves 
by'tasteful and appropriate musical 
expression. ' "' ^ ^ 

'''Fare thee Zicll,'" zcrittmhflmtl 

'Byfon, composed with an Ji*e6m'- 

panim&nt for the Piano Porte, by 
G. KiaHmark. Pr. "2s. 
■ Ih the melody of this composition 

vised with a view to executive 
facility, is satisfactory. In this, as 
well as some other musical spec?-' 
mens of "Fare thee well," we ob;-- 
serve what appears to us a too close 
adherence to rhyitie in the liue^,'^'" 

" EVii thoii^b Mnford;ivinj, 77efe^r , i^ 
" 'Gainst thee sliall my lieart rebel." 

• to 
As the composer has so many means' 
of extending or narrowing the me- 
tre of his poetry, it would not have 
been difficult to allot the word 
"never" to the strain appropriated 

; t<j the remainder of the sentence, in- 
stead of closing the first period with 

I that word, and thereby creating a 
close where the sense of the text 

of " Fai-e thee well" (in B b), the !i has none. Molody, in ouropinmn, 
several ideas are less distinguished ' ougiit, as much as possible, to be 
by noveltfybf conception, than they ! musical declamation. 

will be tound' attractive by their 
unaffected expression, and the na- 
tural connection with which they 
succeed each other. A few minor 
bars are aptly introduced in the 
tBrd Verse, ahd a part in F follows, 

" Fare thee zcell," Tcritten by the 
Risht Hon. Lord Byron, and de- 
dicated by permission to the Coun- 
tess La Ferte, composed, uith an 
accompaniment for the Piano- Forte 
or Harp, by C. M. Sola. Pr. 2s. 



Tlic plaintive style of this melo- 
tlv corie>poiicls well with the im- 
port of the words, and the voice is 
strongly supported by the instru- 
mental accompaniment ; but Mr. 
Sola in this instance appears to us 
to travel too freely and frequently 
from the key to its relative minor, 
and vice versa. 

" J}i calm, in soothing Pleasure,^'' a 
favourite Song, as sung zcitli un- 
bounded applause by Miss Nash 
att/ie Tlieiure Ro>/al, Drwi/-Lane, 
in the Opera of the Maid of the 
Mill, coiupoaed. by Nasolini ; the 
fVords written and arranged to the 
Musichy Charles Cummins, Esq. 
Pr. 2s. 

vMthongh we do not wish to en- 
couraj^e liie practice of writing- 
words to n)usi(;, we are bound to 
own, that, in this instance, it would 
be difficult to discover the appUca- 
lion of that ])ractice, so well do 
the words ajjply to the tune. The 
choice of the latter, too, appears 
to us to have been eminent I3' hap- 
py. It is a very fine and brilliant 
composition, v.iih good and chaste 
melody, and supported bj' various 
fanciful accompaniments ; all in the 
l)est style of the Italian school. 
In the second movement we are 
quite an fait of the versification; 
but we cannot butapplaud theman- 
ner in which the comjjoser of the 
poetry has expressed the beautiful 
idea, /. 3, ;;. 4. In the fifth page 
some bravura bars occur, vvliich, 
for the benefit of moderate vocal 
abilities, it would have been well 
to have given both in the ori";inal 
and in a more homely style, espe- 
cially as it must be more than a 
common voice to reach upper B and 
C sharp. 

■" Dearest Ellen,'''' the favourite Not- 
turno, as sung at the fashionable 

Parties, uritten hy W. G. T. Mon- 
crieff", Esq. and adapted to the Air 
of the Copenhagen IValtz, teithau 
Accompaniment for the Piano- 
Forte, by J. Addison. Pr. 2s. 
This is another specimen of words 
adapted to a favourite air, and the 
attempt has not been unsuccessful, 
although the peculiarity of the me- 
lody presented some difficuhies, 
which, if we recollect right, we 
adverted toon a previous occasion, 
when we had to notice the same 
tune with other words. Mr. A.'s ac- 
companiments are very elTective in 
point of harmony, and are render- 
ed highly interesting by the diver- 
sity of contrivance, as well as by 
the active passages which he has 
judiciously interwoven in their pro- 
per places. 

A I olnntary for the Organ, in a 
familiar style, suited to Church 
Service, composed and selected, by 
S. F. llinibault. Organist of St. 
Giles in the Fields. Op. 5. No. 
IV. Pr. Is. 6d. 

An adagio, and a movement in 
the style of a march, constitute this 
voluntary. Both are properly put 
together, and respecial>Ie. Of the 
sacred style in music they partake 
but in a slight degree; and, ex- 
cepting the directions for particu- 
lar stops and a few long notes, 
their character does not indicate an 
absolute necessity of the organ for 
their execution. 

What ho! iVhat ho I a fourth Ma- 
drigal for four Voices, composed f 
and inscribed to James Visiter^ 
Esij. by \\ illiam Beale, Gent, of 
his Majesty's Chapels lio^'al. Op. 
9. Pr. 8s. 

The words to tiiis madrigal, in 
three sharps and ^ time, are stated 
to be by Mr. Henry Kobinson, and 
the four voices are a counter-te- 



nor, firstand second tenor, and bass. 
Tliese parts are set with great at- 
tention to the text, and with much 
skill of harmonic contrivance. — 
Among several passages which we 
thoughtsingiiiurly striking and cle- 
ver, the part beginning with " Clo- 
ris loves not tears and sighs," de- 
serves distinct mention, on account 
of the able imitations successively 
allotted to the three lower voices. 
'lite Laif of the II aiidcrer, rcritten hij 
the Right Honourable Lord By- 
ron, composed, and respectful 1 1/ in- 
scribed to Miss Sandys, by V . J. 
Klose. Pr. 2s. 

As far as the four first lines of 
the text the song proceeds in a 
regular, tasteful, and well-connect- 
ed melody. At " It is not love" a new 
strain is introduced, the beginning 
of which is peculiarly well adapted 
to the words: but the deviation 
into the allied minor is in itself of 
a common and antiquated kind; 
the interval Fsh. D sh. at "nor low," 
somewhat difficult to seize in the 
situation in which it is employed ; 
and the lastsyllableof " ambition's" 
drags awkwardly. Two bars far- 
tlier on the melody arrives at a 
full close, whereas there the period 
of the text is quite incomplete. 
The last strain, *' And fly I'rom all," 
however interesting: bv reason of 
the accompaniment, is not well 
adapted to conduct to a proper 
termination of the song ; and in- 
deed the conclusion appears to us 
very abrupt and sudden. The more 
active acconipaniment of the se- 
cond verse has our entire approba- 
tion ; it creates variety and in- 
creased attraction. 
Practical Inst ructions for the Piano- 
Forte, dedicated to Miss yJnnn 
IIoxccll, far zchom they were origi- 
VoL II. No. III. 

vally composed, by her Father, 1'. 
Howell. First part. Pr. lOs.Gd. 
I'he book before us forms tlie 
lirst part of a course of inst ructions 
ibr the piano-forte; the second 
part,consistingof a series of lessons 
in all the major and minor keys; 
and the third containing a set of 
preludes in the same keys. Amoncr 
the numerous elementary works 
vvhicii have come under our iiotice, 
this presents some features of dis- 
j tinction which appear to us of de- 
cisive merit. Besides the systema- 
1 tic and perspicuous treatment of 
the first rudiments, we observe a 
] fixed plan to pervade the whole of 
the author's labour. When he 
jrives a rule or definition, he also 
, gives an example to elucidate his 
text; and evpii the numerous les- 
sons which form a considerable 
portion of the work, are nothing 
but progressive examples purpose- 
ly devised to illustrate his system. 
We are fully sensible of the labour 
required in producing such a work, 
every bar of which is the author's 
own composition; and we as cor- 
dially agree with his opinion, that 
these lessons are infinitely more 
useful and proper than an olio of 
favourite tunes, frecjuentl)- strung- 
toiiether without sufficient atten- 
tion to their progressive difficul- 
ties. Here every lesson has its de- 
fined object, which ol>ject, more- 
over, is satisfactorily indicated and 
explained, and the learner is sys- 
tematically led from one peculiari- 
ty of executive practice to another 
of a higher degree in the scale of 
proficiency. Another conspicuous 
' feature of these instructions is, the 
j uncommon pains which are taken 
j to impress the pupil with a proper 
i notion of maslcal time. This grand 




object is ever in tlie author's view; 
and the lessons tend to its attain- 
ment fully as mnch as to manual 
execution. Having said tims much 
in approbation of the author's per- 
formance, we shall state where it 
a.ppears to us still susceptible of 
improvement. To liave set a large 
]jortion of the first lessons to one 
position of the hand, so as not to 

j4 Dictionary of Micsici by J. : Bot- 
tomley. Pr. Is. -mjs 

In tins neat and handy little vo- 
lume, Mr. B. has collected all that 
is most essential in musical ternai:? 
nology : some few omissions, bate 
occurred to us on perusal, but th<ty 
are of no great importance. His 
explication and orthography of the 
Italian terms are correct; and 

require a shift or change of fingers, ;| where he has occasion to touch upr 

is.liighly proper; but to persevere 1 
^n„ that position throughout this I 
book, and thereby to confine each ' 
hand to the range of five notes, [ 
appears objectionable. We sup- 
pose the second part supplies this 
desideratum, but are of opinion 
that the first ought to have includ- 
ed all that is essential in the im- 
portant chapter of fingering, and 
to have contained the most mate- 
rial general rules for the changes, 
shiftings, and substitutions of the 
fingers, and for the proper use of 
the thumb in particular. All this 
is more or less copiously treated in 
other elementary works of the same 
bulk and price. 

uiuiiliary Lessons for the Piano- 
Forte, by T. Howell. Pr. 5s. 
"These lessons," to use the au- 
thor's own words, " are designed to 
facilitate the first efforts of chil- 
dren, commencing with enlarged 
notes, which are progressively re- 
duced to the usual size." The au- 
thor's idea of enlarging the size of 
the notes is novel, and likely to be 
attended with advantage to infant 
pupils. His giant crotchets, as 
large as swan-shot, form a sort of 
musical horn-book ; and their gra- 
dual diminution tends very pro- 
perly to accustom the child by 
degrees to the common size of 
{iiuiical types. 

on elementary matter of ijistruc-, 
tion, his illustration is at ong^:f^nr.. 
cise and perspicuous. . . :^ gjij ar 
T/ie Tanky or Russian Dance, at" 
ranged as an Overture for the Pi- 
ano-Forte, by Augustus Voigt, 
Pr. 2s. ''^ 

It seems Mr. V. himself perceiv- 
ed that this dance is not best suited 
for an overture, for, after giving it 
at full length at the beginning, and 
repeating it by the de capo, we hear 
no more of it, directly or indirect- 
ly ; but, in its place, we have a va- 
riety of ideas which are much more 
in the character of an overture, an4 
by no means uninteresting. Among 
those, thedolce part [p. 4, /. 1,) vyill 
be found particularly pretty.,.^, 
p. 3, /. 5, where the bass ascend* by 
fourths, a discord occurs in the 
third bar, to which we cannot re^- 
concile ourselves. The same pas- 
sage is much better treated in the 
fifth page. Upon the whole there 
is spirit and style in this composi- 
tion; and the facility with which 
it is set, renders it accessible to 
any but absolute beginner§^^; ggg, 

An ingenious, and at the same 
time very simple, contrivance has 
recently been applied to the grand 
piano- forte, which appears to us a 
decided and e sential improve-. 



ULt:vit. ' Instead of tuning in uni- 
son the three wires belonging to 
t^aelr'kif^y, two wires only iire so 
tuhed-f and the third (tlironghont 
the whole range, excepting a few 
oF'llie upper keys,) is tuned a>i oc- 
tave higher. Tlie elFert of this is, 
that the sound is rendered more 
powerful in general, its vibration 
and consequent length of duration 
are greatly increased, and the torie 
is thereby rendered more singing. 
At the same time, the lowest notes 
in the bass, wliich in general are 

very indistinct, become by that 
means more defined and agreeable. 
What may to some appear singu- 
lar, this change in tiie mode of 
tuning is not to l)e discerned by 
the nicest ear, except by the pecu- 
liar general ertects above noticed. 
The inventor, Mr. Kirkman, has 
taken a patent for this description 
of grand piano-fortes, the price of 
which, as may be supposed from 
the simplicity of the contrivance, 
differs little from that of the grand 
piano-fortes hitherto made. 


" TftE- directors of this valuable n critic upon the Cartoons) has justly 
institution have, within the last j held them forth as great niodt'is of 
month, presented the public with : imitation, and as deservedly enti- 

an E.XHiDrnoN of tjib Italian 
AND Spanish Schools of Paint- 
ing, an e.xhibition that cannot fail 
to improve the growing (and now 
general) taste of the public in the 
arts, and which nnist also open fresh 

tied to the station to wliich the 
concurrence of past ages assigned 

The other pictures in this col- 
lection consist of some of the best 
specimens of the Italian and Spa- 

stores of information to the artist |; nish schools, and are of varied, but 
himself, and aid the cultivation and ], in 
developement of his powers. 1'his 
collection is graced by two of the 
Cartoons of Raphael from his Ma- 
jesty's gallery — The Miraculous 
Draught of Fishes, and Paul preach- 
ing at Athens. It would be a work 
not only of alFectation, but supere- 
rogation, to repeat the praises, or 
revive the critical disquisitions, 
which have been bestowed upon 

some instances of superlative 

The several manners of the Ita- 
lian schools may be said to coiiq)re- 
hend a union of the most compli- 
cated and studied design with the 
most refined simplicitv ; the most 
sterile with the richest and most 
gorgeous tints; every excellence in- 
deed that the arts demand in ex- 
pression, drawing, light, and sha- 

these celebrated works. Tiiose who dow, and all that can rank art high 
have raised doubts on the propri- i in point of skill and intellect. In 
ety of some of their subortlinate them we can likewise perceive those 
parts, havenot withheld the tribute I seeds of corruption which after- 

of thfelr admiration from the ma- 
jesty, the expression, ami simple ; 
grandeur of the pri^cipif orri^^; j 
and Mr. Fuseli (we belicVe tli'e lak ' 

wards degraded the art ; that eager 
and vulujjtuous desire for colour, 
which misled numbers in its pursuit, 
and gave to those who had less pow- 
G '2 



er than Rubens, a sort of clums}-, 
sliewy excellence, a glowing rich- 
ness, unpardonable wlien bestowed 
upon faults. And even Paul Ve- 
ronese, witii his lovely tone and 
brilliant et^'ect, exemplifies the in- 
feriority of tliis meretricious style, 
when compared with the produc- 
tions of a steadier and a more men- 
tal acquisition. To judge of the 
merit of mind over the striking, 
but transient gratification and plea- 
SHire we receive from colour alone, 
look, for example, at the contrast 
between the cartoon of Paul and 
the pictures of Paul Veronese in 
the same room. The latter are 
doubtless rich and luxuriant, but 
the mind is puzzled to comprehend 
the particular subjects they are 
meant to represent: yet, without 
any pretension to colour, though 
possessing it as far as the material 
will admit, the cartoon relates every 
circumstance and explains itself at 
the instant it meets the spectator's 
eye, improving in depth and gran- 
deur as he recedes in the distance. 
The works of Titian were the 
great models of his time. This art- 
ist combined more excellencies 
than any other painter of his age. 
The picture in this collection of 
Bacchus and Ariadne, from the Al- 
dobrandini Palace, is a school of 
art itself. Before we touch (and 
we can only slightly do so) on its 
merits, we are anxious to express 
our gratification at finding the finest 
works in the British Institution in 
the hands of families who rank high 
in our own commercial and tradiuii 
community. As the commerce of 
Venice and Italy revived the arts 
in Europe, so that of our own 
country seems calculated to che- 
rish and sustain, them. The Ba- 

rings and Hopes are known alike in 
arts and commerce; and the pre- 
sent picture (the finest perhaps in 
the gallery) is the property of Mr.' 
Hamlet, a trader of higli re]i\j'tre* 
It bears the marks of having been 
much rubbed, injured, and repair- 
ed ; yet what a splendid union of 
expression and colour! The draw- 
ing is exquisite; a perfection that 
pervades the most subordinate parts,' 
even to the flowers strewed on the' 
fore-ground, and which are exqui- 
sitely finished, even when brought 
into contact with the best pictures 
of Claude. The face of Bacchus, 
defaced as it certainly is, hasendugh 
of soul left to shew what the artist 
executed. The young Satyr and 
calfs head are exquisite, and the 
drapery and figures in shadow'can 
never have been excelled. 

Bacchanalian Dance, by N. Pous- 
sin, which is also the property of 
Mr. Hamlet, is remarkable for the 
correctness of its drawing and the 
purity of its execution. 

Besides the former work of Ti- 
tian, there are several others enti- 
tled to notice, particularly Christ 
Tempted, from the Orleans Collec- 
tion. The female arm is exqui- 
sitely drawn and coloured, and the 
countenance of the Saviour has a 
truly divine expression. The Mar- 
riage of St. Catherine, Titian^s 
Daufihter with a Casket, and A Man 
drinking (the transparency of the 
glass in the last in particular), are 
productions that are of themselves 
calculated to sustain this artist's 
fame, even though opposed to his 
Tiuropa in this collection, which 
was evidently painted at the close 
of Titian's century. 

The works of Raphael are nu- 
merous and splendid. The St. Ca- 



therine, from tlie Aldobranclini l*a- i 
lace, T/ic l^irgin and Child, and .S7. 
Joint, from the Escurial, are the . 
finest examples of grace aiu! beauty 
that probably are extant. The grace 
and meekness of St. Cathtiino are 
wonderfully expressed. 

Leonardo da Vinci's works are 
also numerous and valual)le. Tke 
JJctids of the jJpostles were merely 
intended as sketches for his larger 1 
works ; they are therefore more re- 
markable for their strength and ex- ' 
pression of character, than for any 
]>articular beauty of execution. His ; 
Christ dispuling uitk the Doctors 
is particularly line, for the beauty 
and interesting expression of the 
young Saviour's head, contrasted 
u ith the marked and varied charac- 
ter of his auditors. 

This collection has also some 
fine specimens of the style of the 
Carracci, the founders of the eclec- 
tic school, who devoted themsidves 
to the unattainable union of An- 
gelo's design, Raphael's grace, Ti- 
tian's colouring, anil Corregio's 
ert'ect. It is netdltss to say, that 
they not only failed, but exposed 
men of equal talents with them- 
selves, such as Guitlo and Dome- 
nichino, who were their pupils, to 
the bitter reflection of having wast- 
ed the labour of years in the fruit- 
less pursuit, and, in the words of 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, " of having 
dissipated their natural faculties 
over the immense held of possible 

The Triumph of Galatea, fn'<iO, 
by A. Carracci, is an admirable 
example of correct drawing. 

The Natiiiti/, and Saint Francis, 
zcith the yJiigel, by L. Carracci, 
contain a greater union of powers 

than the former, but are not per- 
haps so perfect in their drawing. 
Landscape, nilh a Prorcssion and 
I Sacrifice, from the Aliieri Palace, 
] and Landscape, icith IJistorical 
! Li'^ures, by Claude, are exquisite 
, paintings. The latter is now more 
j generally preferred, though the 
, former, we believe, has invariably 
j'i borne a higher price, and been 
I long considered the best landscape 
in the kingdom. The clear and 
' finely subdued tints of the latter, 
. the immeasurable distance in the 
j perspective, and the pure and na- 
tural tone of colouring in all its 
j parts, appeared to us quite unique, 
i Many parts of the former appeared 
I heavy in the painting, perhaj)s from 

some of the thinner i)arts beino- 

1' . . ^ 

;, wiped off in the course of tin)e, 

j and leaving a dark, heavy colour 
behind. The fore-ground, too, 
j, looks black: the tree is, however, 
'; very fine; and the farther temple, 
together with that part of the pic- 
I tnre which surrounds it, is lovelv, 
jj particidarly the tasteful termina- 
|i tion of the picture, and the light 
, tree near that spot. 
j The Shepherd^s Off'erin^, from the 
Crozat Collection, by P. Veronese, 
I is the best coloured and executed 
I picture by this anist in the Exhi- 
bition : it is a fine specimen of his 
silver tone. The treatment of the 
design does not correspond witii 
• the merit of the colouring. 
j Landscape, Storm, nilh Dido and 
j JEneaSy from the Falconieri Pa- 
I lace, by G. Pous>iii ; a very grand 
and poetical landscape, and supe- 
rior to the works of N. Poussin in 
this gallery; althoiigh The Land- 
scape ai.d Tignres (No. 88), by the 
latter, is finelv executed. His 



Death of Tanned must likewise be 
admired, for the spirit of its corn- 
position and the correctness of its 
tirawinp^. T/ie Triumph of David 
is also a good exaiDple of graceful 

'- Ecte Homo (No. 33), by Guido, 
is an exquisitely finished work, 
both it) expression, attitude, and 
colour: the folds of the drapery 
are soft and tasteful ; the pearly 
shade of the colouring is finely at- 
tractive. His St. John preaching 
in the fVilderness is also a good pic- 
ture, but it has not the soft and 
pathetic interest of the former. It 
wants dignity, and belongs more to 
what is called common nature. 

The Ecce Homo (No. 55), is the 
picture of which a curious story is 
related, demonstrating rather the 
mechanical execution of Guido 
than his Christian virtues. It was 
finished in two hours, to shew a 
travelling cardinal the facility with 
which the artist worked. The pious 
traveller exclaimed, how thankful 
the painter ought to be to God for 
endowing him with such rapid 
powers ; to which the other replied, 
that he would have owed little to 
Providence on this head, had he 
not himself for years of early life 
worked sixteen hours a day. The 
cardinal hastened from the painter, 
and left him his picture. 

Saivator Rosa's landscapes par- 
take of that wild and romantic 

style, in which he delighted to re- 
present the works of Nature. There* 
is great grandeur in his mode of 
arranging the large masses of lighc 
and shade which his pictures cod^ 
tain. ' 1 >i2 

A small laho/e-length Portrait *i 
Armour, by Giorgione, is a beauti- 
ful picture: the subdued tone of 
the face is finely calculated to giver 
effect to the brilliancy of the at^ 
mour. :s 

Murillo's works are admirable',> 
from tlie soft and mellow tone ofi 
their colouring, and the playful autt 
interesting attitudes of his iiguresv^ 
His style of composition is equally' 
simple and agreeable: there is sucii 
an even distribution ^pftalewS 
iliroughout his works, that one can 
hardly make a particular selection 
to exemplify his merits. If dom- 
pelled, however, to this selection, 
we should say, that his Firkin and 
Child, tiith yJngcls, contained a 
complete specinien of his forcible, 
and peculiar talent — of that union 
of simple and tender expression, 
and harmonious and varied colour- 
ing, for which he was more distin- 
guished than any other Spanish 

The present Exhibition is de^l; 
cidedl}- the finest that has been wit- 
nessed in the metropolis since the 
separation of the Orleans Collec- 
tion, ^a 


Consisting of interesting Extracts from new Popular 



■Si. From Dr. Clarke's Tiatels, part 11. section iii. 



We were conducted to the house I 
of a rich Greek merchant, of the , 

name of Logotheti, the arcbon oi\ 
iChief of Lebadea j a subject of ^hel 



Grand Signior, since well known 
to other iLiiglisli travellers for his 
lios[)it^a.iity and kind offices. His 
brotlier Imd been beheaded lor his 
w^i^ltlj two years before, at Con- 
stantinople. In the house of this 
gentleman ^ve had an opportunity 
of observing; the <;cnnM)e nian- 
ners of the higher of n)odern 
Qrceks, unaltered by the introduc- 
tion of any foreign customs, or by 
an intercourse wiili the actions of 
9ti)«R countries. They seemed to us 
tpbeas ancient as the time of Plato, 
gtndjinmany respectSjbarbarousand 
disgusting. The dinners, and in- 
deed all other meals, are wretched. 
Fowls boiled to raijs, but still tonsrh 
and stringy, and killed only an 
hour btifore they are dressed, con- 
stitute a -principal dish, all heaped 
together upon a large coj)per or 
pewter salver, placed upon a low 
stool, round whi^-h the guests sit 
upon cushions ; the place of ho- 
nour being on that side where the 
long couch of the dndn extends 
along the whitewashed wall. A 
long and coarse towel, very ill 
washed, about, twelve inches wide, 
is spread around the table, in one 
entire piece, over the knees of the 
party seated. . Wine is otdy placed 
before strangers; the rest of the 
qompany receive only a glass each 
of very bad wine with the dessej't. 
Brandy is handed about before 
sitting down to table. All persons 
who partake of the meal wash their 
hands in the room, both before and 
after eating. A girl, with naked 
and dirty feet, enters the apart- 
ment, throw ing to everv one a nap- 
kin: she is followed by a second 
damsel, who goes to ever-y guest, 
and kneeling before him on one 
knee, presents a pewter water- pot 
^ud a pewter bason covered by a 

grill, upon the top of which there is 
a piece of soap. An exhibition ra- 
ther of adisgusting nature, however 
cleanly, then takes place: for having 
made a lather with the soap, they fill 
their mouths with this, and squirt it, 
mixed with saliva, into the bason. 
The ladies of the family also do the 
same; latheringtheir lips and teeth, 
and displaying their arms, during 
the operation of the washing, wiih 
studied attitudes and a jjreat deal 
of affectation, as if taught to con- 
sider the moments of ablution as a 
lime when they may a[)j)ear to great 
advantage. Then tlie master of 
the house takes his seat, his wife 
sitting by his side, at a circular 
tray; and stripping his arin^; quite 
bare, by turning back the sleeves 
of his tunic towards b-is shoulders, 
he serves out the soup and the meat. 
Only one dit.h is placed on the ta- 
ble at the same time. \i it con- 
tains butc^ier's meat or poultry, he 
tears it into pieces with his fingers. 
During meals, the meat is always 
torn with the fingers. Knives and 
spoons are little useil, and they are 
never changed. When meat or 
fish is brougiit in, the host squeezes 
a lemon over the dish. The room 
all this while is filled with girls be- 
lon<rin<i to the house, and other 
irvenial attendants, all appearing 
with naked feet; also with a mixed 
coni[)Hny of priests, physicians, and 
strangers visiting the family. All 
these are admitted upon the raised 
part of tlie Hoor, or diia/i: below 
are collected meaner dependents, 
peasants, old women, and slaves, 
who are allowed to sit there upon 
the floor, and to converse together. 
A certain nameless article of house- 
hold furniture is also seen, making 
a conspicuous and revolting ap- 
pearance, in the room where the 



dinner is served ; but in the houses 
of rich Greeivs it is possible that 
such an exhibition may be owing 
to the vanity of possessing goods 
of foreign manufacture: the poor- 
er class, certainly whether from a 
regard to decorum, or wanting the 
means of thus violating it, are more 
cleanly. The dinner being over, 
presently enters the PavJ/wSor, or Ho- 
mer of his day, an itinerant song- 
ster, with his lyre, which he rests 
upon one knee, and plays like a 
fiddle. He does not ask to come 1 
in,but boldly forces his way through j 
the crowd collected about the doors ; i 
andassuminganairof consequence, i 
steps upon the diian, taking a con- | 
spicnous seat among the higher I 
class of visitants : then striking | 
his instrument, and elevatin<r bis 
countenance towards the ceiling, | 
he begins a most dismal recitative, 1 
accompanying his voice, which is 
only heard at intervals, with tones i 
not less dismal, produced by the ! 
scraping of his three-winged lyre. 
The recitative is sometimes extem- 
pore, and consists of sayings suited 
to the occasion ; but in general it 
is a doleful love-ditty, composed 
of a string of short sentences ex- 
pressing amorous lamentation, ris- 
ing to a sort of climax, and then 
beginningover again ; beingequal- 
ly destitute of melodious cadence, 
or of animated expression. The 
'Poi^(.il(x that we heard, when lite- 
rally translated, consisted of the 
following verses, or sayings, thus 
tagged together: — 

•* For black eyes I faint ! 
For light eyes 1 die I 
For blue eyes 1 go to my ^rave, and am buried V 

But the tone of the vocal part re- 
sembled rather that of the howling 
of dogs in the night, than any 
sound which mitrht be called mu- 

sical. And this was the impres- 
sion made upon us every where by 
the national nmbic of the modern 
Greeks; that if a scale were form- 
ed for comparing it with the scale 
01 music in other European nations^: 
it would fall below every otlier, ©js.r:'^ 
cepting only that of the Lapland- 
ers, to wliich, nevertheless, it bears 
some resemblance. Tiie ballads 
of the Greeks appeared to us to be, 
generally, love-ditties ; and those 
of the Albanians to be war-songs, 
celebrating fierce and bloody en-' 
counters, deeds of plunder, and 
desperate achievements. But such 
general remarks are liable to ex- 
ception and to error : other trar 
vellers may collect exaiT)ples of the 
Romaic and Arnaout poetry, seem- 
ing rather to prove, that a martial 
spirit exists among the Greeks, 
and a disposition towards gallantry 
among the Albanians. 

One of these 'Px^oj^ot entertain- 
ed us, during dinner, every day that 
we remained in Lebadea. When the 
meal is over, a girl sweeps the car- 
pet; and the guests are then mar- 
shalled, with the utmost attention 
to the laws of precedence, in re- 
gular order upon the divuH : the 
master and mistress. of the house 
being seated at the upper end of 
the couch, and the rest of the party 
forming two lines on each side; 
each person being stationed ac- 
cordino- to !us rank. The couches 
upon the divans of all apartments 
in the Levant, being universally 
placed in the form of a Greek n, 
the manner in which a company is 
seated is invariably the same in 
every house*. It does not vary, 
from the interior of the apartments 
in tlie Sultan's seraglio, to those 

* Hence may be understood what is 
meant by "holding a divan/' as well 



ot the meatiest subjects in his do- , 
minions ; the difference consisting | 
only in the coveiinglortheconchcs, 
and the decorations of the iloor, 
walls, and windows. After tliis ar- 
rangement has taken place, and 
every one is seated cross -lej^jged, 
the pe'.vter basin anil ewer are 
brought in again, and again begins 
the same ceremony of ablution, 
with the sante lathering and squirt- 
ing from all tlic mouths that have 
been fedr. After this, tobacco-pipes 
are brought in : but even this part 
of- the ceremony is tiot without its 
etiquette; for having declined to 
use the pipes oft'ered to us, they 
were not handed to the persons who 
sat next to us in the order observed, 
although the tobacco in them was 
ready kindled, but taken out of 
the apartment, and others of an 
inferior qtiality substituted in their 
stead, to be presented to the per- 
sons seated below tis. 

There are no people more in- 
flated with a contemptible and vul- 
gar pride than the Turks; and the 
Greeks, wlio are the most servile 
imitators of their superiors, have 
borrowed many of these customs 
from their lords. Costly furs are 
much esteemed by both, as orna- 
ments of male and female attire; 
that is to say, if they be literally 
co^tli/; as the finest fur that ever 
was seen would lose all its beauty 
in their eyes if it should ever be- 
come cheap. Their habits are only 
esteemed in proportion to the sum 
of fnoney they cost; changes de- 
pending upon what is cdWed fasfiion 
being unknown among them. The 

as the orip;in of thnt expression; the 
members of a council, or of any state 

.assembly,, being thus seated. 

II Vol. 11, No. fJL 

cap of tlie infant Logotheti con- 
sisted of a mass of pearls, so strung 
as to cover the head ; and it was 
fringed with sequins, and other gold 
coin, among which we noticed some 
of the latest Christian emperors, 
and of the church. Tlie dress worn 
by his wife was either of green 
velvet or of green satin, laden with 
a coarse and very heavy gold lace; 
the shoulders and back being fur- 
ther set off with grey squirrel's fur. 
There is yet another curious in- 
stance of their scruj)ulous atten- 
tion to every possible distinction 
of precedency. The slippers of 
tlie superior guests are placed upon 
the step of the divan: those of the 
lower rank, of the unfortunate, or 
dependant, are not allowed this 
honour; they are left below the 
divan, upon the lower part of the 
floor of the apartment, nearer to 
the door. 

About the time that the pipes 
are brought in, female visitants ar- 
rive to pay their respects to the 
mistress of the house, who, upon 
their coming, rises, and retires with 
the women present, to receive her 
guests ill another apartment. On 
one of the days that we dined here, 
it being the day of a Greek festival, 
two Albanians, with their wives and 
children, came to visit the archon. 
These peasants, upon entering the 
room, placed each of them a sack 
of provisions in one corner of the 
apartment, and then came forward 
to salute their landlord. When the 
women advanced, they touched lii:> 
hand only, and then placed their 
own hands to their foreheads, tnuk- 
ingthesign of the cross, as in Rus- 
sia: but the children took, his hand 
and kissed it, applying afterwards 
the back partof it to their foreheads. 







Fjow LictiTENSTtis's Tiuvcls ill Soutliem Afiirn, vol. il. 

Our hunters expected to find a 
great deal of the larger sorts of 
ganie in the country we were now 
to traverse, and therefore rode on 
before, since the noise of our whole 
convoy togetlier would probahly 
frighte-n them. We had scarcely 
travelled an hour, when the Hot- 
tentots called our attention to some 
ebjects on a hill not far off on the 
left hand, which seemed to move. 
1 he head of sometliing appeared 
almost immediately after, feeding 
on the other side of the hill, and it 
was concluded it must be that of a 
very large animal : this was con- 
firmed, when, after going scarcely 
a hundred steps farther, two tall 
swan-necked giraffes stood almost 
directly before us. Our transports 
were indescribable, particularly as 
the creatures themselves did not 
perceive us, and th.erefore gave us 
full time to examine tliem, and to 
prepare for an earnest and serious 
chace. The one was smaller, and 
of a paler colour than the other, 
which Vischer immediately pro- 
j)ounced to be the young of the 
larger. Our horses were sad- 
dled, and our guns loaded in an 
in&tant, when the chace commen- 
ced. Since all the wild animals of 
Africa run against the wind, so that 
ue were pretty well assured which 
way the course of tliese objects of 
our ardent wishes would be direct- 
ed, Vischer, as the most experi- 
enced hunter, separated himself 
from us, and, by a circuit, took the 
animals in front, that he might 
stop their wa}', while I was to at- 
tack them in the rear. I had al- 
most got witliin shot of theui when 

they perceived me, and began to 
dy in the direction \ye expected, 
hint tlieir flight was so beyond all 
idea extraordinary, that, between 
laughter, astonishment, and de- 
light, I almost forgot my designs 
upon the harmless creelures' lives. 
From the extrava.'unt dispropor- 
tion between the lieight of the fore 
to that of the hinder part;?:, and of 
the height to tlie length of the ani-, 
mal, great obstacles are prtsented 
to its moving with any degree of 
swiftness. When Le Vaillant as^ 
scrts that he has seen tlie giraffe 
trot, he spares me any farther 
trouble in proving that this ani- 
mal never presented itself alive be- 
fore him. How in the world idiottld 
an animal, so disproportioned in 
height, before and behind, trot '^ 
The giraffe can only gallop, as I 
can affirm from my own experi- 
ence, having seen between forty 
and fifty at different times, botlvin 
their slow and hasty movements, for 
they only step when they are feed- 
ing quietly. But this gallop is so 
heavy and unwieldy, and seems 
performed with so much labour, 
that in a distance of more than a 
hundred paces, comparing the 
ground cleared with the size of the 
animal and of the surrounding 
objects, it might almost be said that 
a man goes faster on foot. The 
heaviness of the movement is only 
compensated by the length of the 
steps, each one of which clears, 
on a moderate com[)utation, from 
twelve to sixteen feet. On account 
of the size and weight of the fore 
pans, the giratVe cannot move for- 
wards through the power of the 



muscles alone; he must bend back 
liis long neck, by which the centre 
of gravity is thrown somewhat 
more behind, so as to assist his 
march : then alone it is possible 
for him to raise his fore legs from 
the ground. The neck is, how- 
ever, thrown back without being 
itself bent, it remains stiff and 
erect, and moves in this erect form 
slowly backwards and forwards 
with the motion of the legs, almost 
like the mast of a shi|) dancing 
upon the waves, or, according U) 
the phrase used by sailors, a reel- 
ing ship*. It is not difHcult to 
overtake the giraffe with a tolera- 
bly good horse, especially if the 
ground be advantiigeous and some- 
what ou the rise; for it will be 
easily comprehended, that it must 
be extremely difficult for a crea- 
ture of such a structure to move 
upon the ascent. 

The extriionhnary motion of this 
animal, the i'atigue he seemed to 
experience in heaving up his fore 
legs, and the stiff manner in which 
they came to the ground, so rivet- 
ed my attention, that mv ardour 
in pursuit of him was, for a mo- 
ment, checked, and recollection 
was wholly lost in observation. 1 
soon, however, set mv horse again 
into a gallop, anti sprang towards 
this wondtrful hgnrc; v/liile he, 
])robably never before interrupted ; 
by a human being, and perfectly 
unsuspicious of our evil desi<>ns, 
stootl there, looking with an eye of ; 

* It has been said, that the iiiovement I 
of the kin''lit a' chess was borrowed tVinn 
that of thegirafle. If there be any truth | 
in this notion, it can refer only to the ', 
sprniL^mg over every thing, not to its | 
obliijue motion, which is wholly foreign ] 
to that of tile Lriralle. ' 

curiosity towards me, without seem- 
ing t(j be aware of my con)panioii. 
That companion had already ap- 
proached the animal in front, but 
unluckily he had not patience to 
wait a few moments longer before 
he fired, and, taking his aim at too 
great a distance, his shot failed. 
Alarmed, the creatures now ran 
with redoubled swiftness; besides 
which, a ntiiiute was necessarily 
lost in rcloadinji and cockinj; the 
gun, in which they got the start of 
us very considerably. Our horses, 
though already out of breath, were 
again spurred on ; but we should 
never have come up with the gi- 
railes, if they had not suddenly 
turned round, having probably seen 
some of our companions who hail 
gone on before, or had the idea of 
some other danger, and come di- 
rectly towards us. By this means 
they were soon within our reach; 
when Vischer, hastily disniounting 
from his horse, tired, and ilie3'oung 
one fell. The old one iiumediatoly 
renewed her flight more eagerly 
than before, anil was hit by my tire, 
l)ut not in a mortal part. I follow- 
ed her still awhile by the track of 
the blood, but she quickly got the 
start of me very much, and my 
horse was so completely wearied 
that I was forced to give tlie thing 
up. I then returned to my com- 
panion, whom 1 found sitting upon 
the neck of our fallen ])rey. He 
called to me not to ap[)roach in- 
cautiousl^'jsincetlieaniujal, though 
wounded in the s|jine, had yet a 
great deal of strength reuiaining, 
and had made several efforts to 
spring up again, which he was 
seeking to prevent by keeping the 
neck down. As our companions 
soon after rejoined us, we released 
II 2 



the poor giraffe from his confine- 
ment: this was no sooner clone, 
tlian, though almost at the last 
gasp, it endeavoured, by a power- 
ful spring of its long neck, to raise 
itself up, and remained for some 
instants with its body half vaised 
from the ground. It then fell 
again from weakness, but in falling 
the left horn struck against a stone, 
which considerably injured the 
beauty of the skull. 

As night was coming on, we all 
united with the utmost diligence in 
cutting up our prize, the skin of 
which, with the most important 
parts of the skeleton, and some 
pieces for the kitchen, were car- 
ried away. After the head was se- 
parated from the neck, and the 
whole fore part was laid open, we 
began four of us to strip the 
thighs, when a last convulsive pal- 

pitation of the whole tendon mus- 
cles scattered us on all sides, not 
in a very gentle manner. Two 
Hottentots, who were at work on 
the hinder hoofs, were struck with 
such force as to be thrown to the 
distance of three or four paces; and 
I myself received a blow on the 
head from the front hoof, which I 
felt prietty severely for several day*. 
In all the larger quadrupeds, par^- 
ticularly the buffalo, I have ob- 
served an extraordinary irtitability 
in the muscular fibres, which pro- 
bahiv arises principally from the 
vital warmth remaining so much 
longer in so large a mass before it 
can be wholly expended. The 
muscles in the thighs, for exam*- 
ple, I have known not un frequent- 
ly tremble at being touched with 
tlie knife, even an hour after they 
are separated from the body. 




This dress is composed of white 
lace, and is worn over a rich soft 
white satin slip. The skirt is trim- 
med, in a style of peculiar ele- 
gance, with lace festooned at re- 
gular distances ; the festoons are 
edged by a plain band of byas sa- 
tin, and finished by pearl orna- 
ments of a very novel and pretty 
shape. The body, composed also 
of lace, is cut byas, and is richly 
ornamented round the bosom with 
pointed lace. Plain long sleeve, 
very full, except towards the wrist, 
which is uearly tight to the arm, 
and elegantly finished with lace. 
The hair, which is ornamented only 

with a wreath of French roses, is 
parted in front, and simply dressed 
in loose curls, which fall very low 
on each side. The hind hair forms 
a tuft at the back of the head. 
Necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets 
of pearl. White satin slippers, and 
white kid gloves. A blush-colour- 
ed French silk scarf is thrown carer 
lessly over the shoulders. 

We are indebted for this very 
elegant and tasteful dress to a lady 
of rank, by whom it has been just 


A round dress, composed of ja-: 
conot muslin, finished round the 
bottom of the skirt by a deep 




fiouncc of rich work scolloped at 
the edge, and a heading to corre- 
s|X)nd. The body has a slight ful- 
ness behind. The form of the 
front, as our readers will perceive 
by our print, is extremely novel 
and pretty. Plain long sleeve, fi- 
nished at the wrist by a pink band 
and bow. The cuniette worn with 
this dress is of the moi) kind, and 
by much the most becoming we 
have ever seen : it is composed of 
Avhite lace, and tastefully orna- 
mented with roses, l^ink kid slip- 
pers, and white kid gloves. 

This dress is much approved by 
//e/les of taste for its elegant sim- 
])licity: its form and materials are 
certainly strictly appropriate to 
morning costume. It was invent- 
ed by Mrs. Gill, of Cork-street, 
Burlington-Gardens, to whom we 
are indebted for it. 

genf:ral observations on :- 
fashion and duess. 

We have little alteration to no- 
tice in the promenade costume 
since our last nunjher. Pelisses are 
still worn, but they are most in fa- j 
vour with matrons ; spencers are |' 
the order of the day with youthful 
belles; and silk scarfs, over white - 
muslin dresses, are adopted by 
both. We see, with pleasure, ladies 
of distinction give liberal encou- 
ragement to Knglish manufactures; ' 
and it is but justice to own, that the 
])roductions of our own looms may 
vie with those of anv other coun- 
try. Our imitations of China crape 
and French silk, both for dresses 
and scarfs, are now universally , 
adopted; the former in particular! 
are uncommonly good. We have j 
pp novelty to anuouiice either in 

spencers or pelisses since our last 

Straw and Leghorn hats and 
bonnets are still much in favour; 
they are trimmed with gauze to 
correspond, and are frequently 
worn without any other ornament 
than a large bow and a white lace 
veil thrown over them : low plumes 
of feaihtrs, either white or straw 
colour, are, however, adopted by- 
many elegantes; but Hovvers are not 
at all worn. 

Tlie hat most in favour for the 
dress protnenade, is composed of 
white chip, lined and edged with 
white satin: it is a plain round 
shape, w ith a very small front, and 
a moderate sizt-d crown; and is or- 
namented in front by a beautiful 
low plume of white feathers, tipped 
with green, blue, or lilac. White 
satin hats are also made in this 
form, but cliip seems to be consi- 
dered most elegant. 

China crape scarfs, richly em- 

broidcrcil in colours at the ends, 

are miicli worn in the carriajje cos- 

lume, as arc also those beautiful 
Freuch, or imitation of French, net 
scarfs, whii^-h are woven of hard 
silk, and are equally rcnmrkable 
for their lightness and the vivid 
beauty of their colours. The ends 
of these scarfs are usually of five 
colours, beautifully shaded; the 
middle, if not white, which is con- 
sidered as most fashionable, is al- 
ways of some light colour. 

Muslin is the only thing now 
adopted by belles of taste in the 
morning costume. The dress that 
we have given in our print is the 
highest in estimation ; but we have 
seen a half high dress, composed 
of jaconot mu:?lin, made tight to 
the shape, and the whole of the 



body ornamented with very narrow 
tucks put close together, ^\l^ich 

give it tlie appearance ot being 
small-plaited. The long sleeve was 
quite plain, but finished at the wrisi 
by a narrow triijle 6ounce; the 
trimming of the skirt corresponds 
with the wrist, and ihe Jic/iu with 
which it is worn, is trimnied in a 
similar manner. The only recom- 
irtendation of this dress, is its ex- 
treme plainntss and simplicity. 

AV liite is also very much in fa- 
vour for dinner dress, as is spotted 
silk, and a very beautiful new silk, 
a myrtle leaf on a white ground, 
the leaf much raised. Coloured 
bodies are not much worn, but white 
saiin ones, very full trimmed with 
lace, are in great request. Blond 
for silk dresses, and French lace 
for muslin ones, are in general esti- 
matiot) : we observe, however, some 
f/Cga/ites whose dresses are trimmed 
with festoons of muslin edged with 
narrow lace, and ornamented with 
bows of ribbon on each festoon. 
Coloured sarsnet dresses are also 
trimmed in a similar manner with 
gauze to correspond ; the gauze is 
edged with a beautiful light silk 
trimming. No novelty has appear- 
ed in dinner dress since last month. 

The corset des Graces mentioned 
in a former number, is likelv to 
continue a permanent favourite with 
ladies who consult health and the 
beauty of the shape; the width I 
which it gives to the cliest enhances I 
its estimation at present, because , 
dresses are now made so as to shew i 
the natural shape to the greatest 
advantage, and that must depend | 
in a great measure on the form of 
the corset. 

The T/iuriuguen habit lately sub- 
mitted to our inspection, will, we 

believe, be found to inerit the ap- 
probation of our fair readers: jwb 
understand it is honoured by the 
patronage of some fair equestrians, 
who are equally distinguished for 
rank and taste. There is consider- 
able novelty in the style of the 
braiding, wliich is disposed in front 
in a manner highly advantageous 
to the shape. 

Crape and lace sprigged with 
silver and em!)roidered with lama, 
net enibroidered with white silk, 
and French gauze either white or 
coloured, trimmed with the same 
material intermixed with ribbon, 
are all in estimation for full dress. 
{ The evening dress next in favour to 
! the one given in our print, is com- 
I posed of white French gauze; the 
j skirt is trimmed very high with an 
intermixture of blond and wreaths 
I of rose-buds. Plain loose body, 
! confined by the royal brace, com- 
posed of white or pink satin trim- 
med with blond, which is lightly 
edged with pink. Short full gauze 
sleeve, over which is a balf-sleeve 
formed by the trimming of the 
brace. The general effect of this 
dress is very tasteful, and it has 
more novelty ti»an any we have seen 
for some time. 

In full dress the hair is worn 
much lighter on the forehead than 
last month, and not quite so low at 
the side, but still parted so as to 
display the forehead and eyebrows; 
the hind hair is brought up in a 
tuft. Turbans are very geiierally 
worn by matronly ladies ; and we 
have observed, both on youthful 
and middle-aged fashionables, a 
singularly pretty head-dress com- 
posed of a French net silk scarf: 
it entirely covers the head, and is 
so arranged as to have on one side 



tlie appearance of a Ijuiich of beau- 
tiful riowers ; the ends are brought 
round to the left shoulder, and lail 
in the neck. Fearl ornaments are 
also much in favour; but for very 
young ladies, the most general or- 
nament is a chaplet composed of 
SIX rows of alternate white and red 
roses : this chaplet is placed at the 
back of the head, sd as to have the 
appearance of conlinin;; the tuft of 
hair, and the eHect is extremely 

:.■ We have noticed in half dress a 
3t neat simple caj) : it is a crown ol 

an oval form ; one side composed 
of Ictiing-in lace, made light to the 
head; the other is a piece of plain 
net, gauged in three places, and 
each gauging ornamented with a 
row of lace : it lias a treble border 
of narrow lace put on full, and is 
ornamented with a half wreath of 
fancy flowers. 

We have no alteration to notice 
in jewellerv since our last number. 

Fashionable colours for the month 
coiuiiuie tiiesame as the last, with 
the exce[)tion of peach-blossotn, 
which is much in favour. 


loj -I ^iniu] F.ARis.June 18. jj full coiton : the latter trimming is, 

When I wrote to yon last, my j: I think, mo«,t ffishionable. If the 
dear Sophia, our fair fashionables Ij trimming is of lace, there are three 
had recently exchanged the heavy . falls of a moderate breadth, put 
babilimeuis of winter for the gay j: rather closely together; and if em- 
attire of spring, and that is now jl broidery, it is finished by one 
laid aside for the light drapery of ,i flouiuc of lace at the bottom. The 
summer. The chan-e from spring i skirt is rather full, and the fulncs* 
to summer costume is, however, is not thrown so much behind as it 
partial. The most fashionalile pro- p was last month. A hand of em- 
menade dresses are composed of j! broidery, or letting-in lace, of 
India muslin ; and they are ccr- [j about an inch in breadth, forms 
tuinly becomingly and simply I the waist, being sewed between the 
made. ^V^aists have been getting |j bodv and the skirt : tiie bodv is 

progressively longer, and they have 
now attained a very becoming 
leniith: the backs of dresses are 

made very low all round, and falls, 
as much as usual, ofi'the shoulders : 
there is a puffing of muslin or lace, 

also a moderate breadth, and we which goes all round, and slopes to 
have lengthened our petticoats till ;! a point on the bosom, which is no- 
even prudery must acquit us of |; vel, but not, I think, advantageous 
indelicacy. So much for general i' to the shape. The sleeve is per- 
observation ; let me now proceed : fectly plain; it is long and very 

to those minute particulars of 
which you are so fond. 

The dress most in request for 
the j)romenade is, as I iiave said, 
composed of India muslin, and 
trimmed either with lace, or em- 

wide, except at the wrist, which is 
gauged to the size of the arm in 
three places, each gauging being 
finished by a row of very narrow 
lace. The fichus worn with these 
dresses are, in general, of /w/Zc, and 

broidered round the bottouj in : the rutVs, which are again reduced 



in size, are of lace. I should ob- 
serve, that sprigged niuslins have 
no embroidery round the bottom, 
but are invariably trimmed with 
Silk scarfs, which are now always 
worn with white dresses, are so ge- 
nerally adopted by people of rank 
in England, that I need not de- 
scribe them to you ; but I wish I I 
could give you a tolerably just idea 1 
of the manner in whiclx belles of j 
taste here put them on : they are 
thrown over the left shoulder, and 
one end fastened at the left side, 
while the other is carelessly brought 
round the right arm. Nothing can 
be more simple than this, you will 
say : the effect, however, depends 
so entirely on the natural ease and 
grace of the wearer, that I would 
not advise any of your friends, who 
possess less of either than yourself, 
to adopt it. 

Although scarfs are higher than 
any thing else in estimation for 
the promenade, yet pelisses are 
still considered elegant, if made 
in the fashionable colours of the 
month. The glaring contrasts which 
I mentioned in my last have disap- 
peared, and the favourite trimming- 
is white satin, which is disposed 
sometimes in light y)ufhngs, some- 
limes in pipes, and not unfrequent- 
ly so as to have, at some distance, 
the appearance of a wreath of 
leaves, but it is always of a very 
moderate breadth. 

Hats and bonnets, of a moderate 
size and height, are still worn of 
straw and Leghorn ; they are orna- 
mented less profusely than usual 
with flowers and ribbons. But the 
most tonish chapeaux are now com- 
posed of tulle, or white satin and 
tulle intermixed: where these cna- 

terials are botli used, the fW/e isset 
in very full, and the satin plain, 
l)ut cut byas. Tliere is nothing no- 
vel in tiie shape of these hats, but 
the lightness of the materials, and 
the tasteful style in which they are 
ornamented with a small bouquet 
of flowers of the season, render 
them really pretty, independent of 
the magic charm bestowed upon 
them by fashion. 

The undress of a modish belle is 
now composed entirely of English; 
manufacture: plain jaconot, or ^ 
striped or corded muslin, has su- 
perseded, in a great measure, Scots 
or English cambric. The form of 
morning dress is exceeding!}' sim- 
plf, but far from becoming; the 
skirt is trimmed only with a single 
pointed flounce of a moderate 
breadth : the chemiset form is still 
adopted for the body, but the en- 
lire of the neck and throat is enve- 
loped in njichu composed of heavy 
rows of work, formed in the style 
of a tippet, and frightfully unbe- 
coming to the shape. The dress is 
confined to the waist by a coloured 
sash, tied in a bow, and short ends 
behiiul. The cornctle worn with it 
is usually composed of worked mus- 
lin : I cannot better describe it than 
by telling you, to fancy a mode- 
rate-sized oval crown placed upon 
a mob cap; the upper part of it is 
drawn round by four rows of rib- 
bon, and each drawing finished at 
the side by a bow ; a large cockade 
of ribbon and net mixed orna- 
ments it in front; a thick quilling 
of net goes round the face, and the 
ends are fastened under the chin 
by a large bow of ribbon. This 
cap can be becoming only to ladies 
who add softness of countenance 
to regularity of features: it is, how- 



ever, generally adopted by the Pa- 
risian elegantes. 

For dijiner dress, India muslin 
and white spotted silk are l)oth 
high in estimation, the former es- 
pecially : coloured sarsnets are not 
at all worn. Lace, or narrow hands 
of byas satin, are still the favourite 
trimmings ; three or four of the 
latter are placed at about two inch- 
es distance from each other, or 
if the dress is trimmed with lace, 
there are three falls put closely to- 
f^ether. The bodies of dinner 
dresses begin to be made very low; 
the fronts are mostly cut in the 
form of a corset. The bosom is 

of ribbon, and a liitle to the side is 
placed a sprig of lilies, roses, or 
any of ihe other flowers of the sea- 
son, which is tied by a bow of rib- 
bon to correspond with that plaited 
round the l)osom. These corncttes 
arc not, however, always composed 
of gauze; some ladies wear them 
in lace, and some in muslin, but 
the latter material is not much in 

I have little information to give 
you with respect to full dress: we 
still continue to wear white gauze 
or white lace over satin ; blond is 
the present favourite trimming for 
petticoats: the robes are always 

trimmed with a quilling of lace or i made just short enough to display 

tulle. The sleeve, if short, is ex- 
tremely full ; it is confined to the 
arm by a band of the same material 
as the dress: some few elegantes 
gather the fulness in different parts 
of the front of the arm, and orna- 
ment each with a small bow of 
ribbon. Long sleeves are, how- 
ever, still more general for dinner 

the trimming of the petticoat. The 
favourite evening dress, at present, 
is trimmed up the middle of the 
front, round the bottom, bosom, 
and sleeves, with three rows of 
narrow white ribbon spotted with 
silver : the effect of this trimming 
is formal and tasteless; but we 
hope, by and by, to profit by the 

dress than short ones, but they are elegant taste of the Duchess of 

made invariably plain. 

Berry, who is likely to be looked 

Cornettes are much worn in din- || up to as the model of fashion by 
ner dress; and although I can jj this court, as the ladies hope to 
never be thoroughly reconciled to i] find in her that love of dress, gaie- 

the superstructure of these gene- 
rally fantastic, and often unbecom- 
ing, head-dresses, yet I must own, 
that I consider the present fashion 
more simple, and more appropri- 
ate to the season, than any adopt- 
ed since I have resided in Paris. 
They are much worn in gauze, and, 
in general, the crown, which is 
oval, and not very high, is very 
full, but the fulness is confined to 
the size of the head by bands of 
byas satin ; to each banil is affixed 
a puffing of gauze: the front is 
generally trimmed with a plaitinc; 
F<jl. II. No. II I. 

ty, and amusement, so congenial to 
the French character, and in which 
Madame is so entirely deficient. 

Hats, composed of white soft 

satin, with a bunch of flowers in 

front, or a plume of feathers, are 

very generally worn in lull dress, 

Tocques are still much in favour; 

and flowers, mingled with precious 

i stones, are in very high estimation. 

I The hind hair is brought round 

I to the front, and forms three rows 

j on the top of the head, each of 

I which is fastened by a jewelled 

I comb. The front hair falls over 




the forehead in soft loose cuils, 
through which is partially seen a 
wreath of roses ; white ones are 
considered most fa^iinonahle: the 
bows at the top ot the head are ra- 
ther formal, but the front hair is 
disposed m an elegant and becom- 
ing manner. 

Full-dress slippers are of white 
spotted silk, and very often spotted 
and fringed with silver. For the 
promenade, they are usually of 
white leather, with a rosette or 
plaiting of ribbon; they are now 
cut lower than they used to be 
round the instep. 

Peach-blossom, damask-rose, all 

the light shades of green, and ce- 
lestial blue, are the prevalent co- 
lours at present. I say nothing to 
you of jewellery, because no alter- 
ation has taken place since 1 wrote 
last. And now, my dear Sophia, if 
you wish that 1 snoulci send you any 
more minute letters on the dear 
delightful subject of dress, you 
must let me know what you are all 
doinjj in Enq;land. Your letters 
are very short, and if you do not 
become a better correspondent, 3'ou 
may expect next time a sheet filled 
with reproaches instead of fasliions, 
from your aB'ectionate an, 




The designs of manv of ourvil- 
las, particularly those erected about 
forty or fifty years ago, contained 
circular-topped windows tothecen- 
tral, and in some cases to all the 
apartments of the ground floor; 
and although it has been usual in 
such cases to consider the windows 
as square-topped, concealing the 
spandrels by the upper draperies, 
yet the opportunity of producing 
a variety of form in the designs of 
furniture is very desirable. The 
annexed plate therefore represents 
draperies suited to such windows; 
the arrangement of which, from its 
architectural and simple elegance, 

is suited to the saloon, and the ac' 
cessoirs are in corrtsj)ondence. 

The saloon being an apartment of 
communication, and through which 
the principal rooms are approaclied, 
the prevailing colours should l)ar- 
monize with them, and yet be of 
such cool or subdued character as 
will produce in tlie others an eflfect 
of greater brilliancy. The cur- 
tains may, notwithstanding, have 
that character of richness that will 
give importance to the saloon, and 
allow it to join with the superior 
apartments in effecting a general 
richness and splendour. 


The remark of our correspond- 
ent X. Y. Z. on the sul)stitution, 
in Nos. III. and V. of the words 
" Balbec and Palmyra," instead of 

*' Dalmatia," is most coyect. The 
inaccuracy arose from quoting with- 
out an instant reference to those 
works, and the certainty of the 




extent to which Adam approved 
and adopted the peculiar style of 
ornaments hotli of his own research 
and those which Wood had |)ub- 
lished in liis Remains of' Halbec and 
Paliin/ru. The new and ht'Uer style 
of architectural enrichment intro- 
duced by Adam recommended him 
to iL^cneral notice, and his invention 
of u stucco, for which lie obtained 
a patent, gave him a free use of 
ornament at a comparatively small 
expense. Tlie Adelphi is an ex- 
am])le of this, and many of his other 
works at)ound with ornaments which 
are the result of his study of 
Wood's Hemuiiis, Ike. : pariicular- 
ly at Keddleston, uear Derby, the 
seat of Lord Scarsdale, they are 
very prominent ; as they were also 
at Fisherwick, near Litchfield, 
which building is now taken down. 
The matter of the numbers refer- 
red to will in no way be alfected by 
the inaccuracy, if "Dalmatia" be 
substituted for " Palmyra and Bal- 
bec :" for Adam distinctly merits 
the approbation that is there be- 
stowed upon him, for that innova- 
tion which has led to the introduc- 
tion of the present chaste style of 
ornamental design. The error in 
the name of " Kevett" is of the 
press. — The interest X, Y. Z.'has 
taken in tins department of the 
arts is very flattering, as it is an 
assurance, that men of talent, taste, 
and research, have a relish for ar- 
chitecture, whose sublime beauties 
have been too much neglected, and 
too little understood. 

In the course of this month will 
be published, by Mr. Ackermann 
of the Strand, in one volume im- 
perial octavo, Se/eci f'iacs of Lon- 
don; containing 70 coloured en- 

gravings, with historical and de- 
scriptive sketches of themost inter- 
esting Public Buildings. 

A new work i)v INliss Taylor, au- 
thor of Display, is in the press, and 
will appear in u few days. 

A translation, from the original 
German, of professor Morgenstcrn's 
Tour, in 1809 and 1810, thruw^h 
Part of Switzerland, Italy, NapUs, 
&c. with additions, is in the press. 

Shortly will be pul)lislied, a new 
and interesting novel, by Miss 
Parker, entitled Self- Deception. 

A work on the Beauties and De- 
jects of the Horse, comparatively 
delineated in a series of coloured 
plates, from the pencil of Mr. 11. 
; Aiken, with references and useful 
instruction to young purchasers, 
or to those who wish to pursue the 
study of that noble animal, is in the 
press, and will soon make its a[)- 

A new work, entitled Albania, or 
tlie Separation, will appear very 
shortly. It is the performance of 
an author who has published be- 
fore; but the pieces of poetry scat- 
tered through the volume are, in 
general, entirely new, two only 
having met the public eye. An 
extract will appear in our next 

Mr. Berry, late of the College of 
y\rms, and author of a History of 
Guernsey, has in the press a series 
of tables, entitled 7'/ic Genealo<^ical 
Mythology; intended as a book of 
reference for classical students. 
The work has received the sanc- 
tion of many of the most eminent 
scholars in the kingdom, to whom 
the MS. has been submitted. 

Mr. Thomas Wilson will pub- 
lish, early in August, A complete 
I 2 



Sijstem of English Country Dane- j 
ing; also a Technical Ball-Room j 
Dictionary, with the complete Eti- 
quette of the Ball-Room ; and a | 
Companion to the Ball-Room, con- I 
taining about 250 of the most cele- 
brated and popular Scotch, Eng- 
lish, and Irish country - dance 
tunes and waltzes. 

Mr. William Phillips will pub- 
lish, early in July, a new edition of 
his Outlines of Mineralogy and Ge- 
ology, revised and improved. This 
elementary book is designed chiefly 
for the use of young persons. To 
this edition will be added, some ac- 
count of the Geology of England 
and Wales, together with a colour- 
ed map and section of the strata; 
which are intended also to be pub- 
lished separately for the purchasers 
of the first edition. 

The third volume of The Trans- 
actions of the Geological Society, will 
be published about the middle of 
July. It will be illustrated by a 
large number of highly finished 
plates, chiefly coloured. 

M. Jouy, whose lively work, 
VHermite de la Chaussce d'Jntin, 
is known to the English reader by 

the title of The Paris Spectator, has 
published the first volume of a se- 
quel to it, which he styles The 
Hermit of Guiana, or observations 
on the manners and customs of the 
French at the beginning of the 
nineteenth centur}-. 

The Paris papers state, that M. 
de Pradt has received more than 
120,000 francs (5000/.) for his three 
j works, on The Embassy to Warsaw^ 
The Congress of Vienna, and The 
ffar in Spain. They add, that 
Rousseau's Emile produced the 
author only 100 crowns. 

Mr. J. B. Riddel, of Edinburgh, 
states, from experience, that the 
fatal accidents which sometimes 
occur from the fury of over-driven 
horned animals, might easily be 
prevented by tying a small rope 
round the neck, and fastening it 
immediately below the knee joint 
of one of the fore legs. The length 
of the rope must be sufficient to 
allow the animal to move his |iead 
gently up and down with the mo- 
tion of the leg, and at the same 
time so short as to prevent him 
from tossing it above the level of 
the shoulder. ' '' ; 



Translated from the Spanish. 

Mother, with watchful eye you 

My freedom to restrain. 
But know, unless I guard my-elf. 

Your guard will be but vain. 
It has been saiil, and Keuson's voi 

Confirms the ancient lay. 
Still will confinernenl'd rigid hand 

Enflanie the wish to slrav. 


Love, once oppress'd, will soon increase. 

And sirengili superior gain: 
'Twere better far, believe my voice. 

To give my will the rein: 
For if I do not guard myself. 

Your guard will be but vain. 

For lier v\ho will not guard herself. 

No other guard you'll find ; 
Cunning and fear will weak be found. 

To chain the active mind. 



Tho' Death himself should bar my way, 

His menace I'd ilisdain: 
Then leurii, thai till I guard myself, 

Youryuard will still be vain. 

The raptur'd heart, which once has felt 

A sense of love's deliyht. 
Flies, like the moth's impetuous wing. 

To find the taper's light: 
A thousand g'lards, a thousand cares. 

Will ne'er the will restrain; 
For if 1 do not guard myself. 

All other guards are vain. 

Such is the all-contrniiling force 

Of Love's resistless storm. 
It gives to beauty's fairest shape 

The dire chimera's form : 
To wax the melting breast it turns. 

Flame o'er the cheek is spread, 
With hands of wool she opes the door, 

Unfelt the footsteps tread. 
Then try no more, wi:h fruitless care. 

My wishes to restrain ; 
For if I do not ^ruard myself. 

Your guard will be but vain. 



By Eliza S. Francis, author of" The Ri- 
val Roses," " Sir Wilibert de Wavcrley," 

Oh, 2od Jess ! round whose roseate shrine. 
At Sappho's call, the heavenly Nine 
Their tuneful homage sweetly paid. 
Re-echoing liirough Idalia's shade; 
Oh, goddess ! if a suppliant's prayer 
Could e'er obtain i!iy guardian care. 
Then, bright Cyihera, list to me — 
Propitious to thy votary be I 

Ah! since no charms of mental kind, 
The race of man can solely bind. 
Oh! breathe o'er me a charm divine. 
Let all the Graces round me shine. 
Goddess ! I ask no wide domain, 
O'er ONE alone I wish to reign; 
Let me but make one mortal blest. 
To nymphs more vain I yield the rest. 

For HIM, oh! let mv lip exhale 
The fragrant sweets of Iran's gale; 
If ne.\tly twined mv temples round, 
My locks ill shining folds be bound, 

Or whether o'er the bosom's snow 
The glossy ringlets careless flow. 
Fair queen.' oh, may those tresses prove 
Fnthralling chains to bind my lovel 

Mine be the smile with rapture bright; 
Mine be that eye-beam's kindling light. 
Which through itssilken curtain stealing. 
Half disclosing, half concealing. 
With trembling luslre darts a ray. 
Foretelling Love's resplendent day, 
DitVusing o'er my lover's mind 
Delights as ardent as refined. 

These gifts be mine — two silver doves. 
Emblems of pure and faithful loves, 
Thine altar, goddess, shall adorn, 
Whene'er shall rise my blissful morn: 
And to reward thy laughing son. 
For all the conquests he has won, 
For all the blissful panics I've known. 
Since low I bent before his throne, 

A bow, of purest bullion form'd, 
A (juiver matchlessly adorn'd, 
A quiver lill'd with feathery store. 
Which he has wanted long before: 
For seldom sure, his darts are true. 
They pierce not as they wont to do ; 
His arrows oft are blunted found. 
And time can heal their deepest wound. 

Oh, goddess ! warm Hilario's breast. 
Be my loved image there impress'd. 
So deeply slamp'd within his heart. 
Nor time can melt, nor absence pari ; 
And when we meet again at last. 
The weary hours of absence past. 
Inspired bv thee, oh ! may we prove 
The immortality of love! 


Tho' donm'd to meet the frowns of Fate, 
Tho' not of Fortune's gems possess'd. 

Yet love shall crown our humble state. 
That nobler treasure of the breast : 

Enrich'd by that, our days shall glide 
! On peaceful pleasure's smoothest tide; 

Each day we'll pass to care unknown. 

Each night we'll rest on virtue's down ; 

Whilst Wealth amid his stores shall sigh, 

And view us with an enviou*; evo. 



Trtscnbe<l tc» \ro'her Marv Hfi.EN upon her 

Lalf Jiiiulee. 

Amidst ali the objects this valley of tears 

Presents to a rational mind, 
A jubilee kept in religion appears 

The most striking that reason can find. 

Two far different worlds, like opposite 
Seem to hang ontrme'sshadowy beam : 
In one, sense enchanting o'er reason pre- 
Grace reigns in the other supreme. 
Of all the fond captives the first ever 
bound, , 
In its stronger than adamant chain, 
PJotone ever lived, nor shall ever be found, 
Whocaiithinkof pasldayswithoulpain. 
If clouded by sorrow, and burden'd with 
Reflection increases their load; 
For conscience, implacable witness, de- 
All is lostthai's not sufTer'd for God. 

If gilded by plea ure, and crown'd with 
Fond passion their loss must deplore. 


The ruffian i\Iarch has scarcely blown 
his last, 

Ere thou, on lender stem all white vvjth 

Thy lightly tinged bosom spreadstto catch 

The milder ray, and drink the fosl'ring 

That April brings. Not thine the gor- 
geous dye 

Of tulip 01 of rose ; but still thy form, 

Of paler hue, wiih all the beauteous show 

That heav'n and earth display in this 
thy season. 

Delights the eye, till now accustomed 

To snows, and mists, and rains, all com- 
fortless and drear. 

Secure beneath some shaggy hedge thou 

Lest that too rude a gale thy form should 

Or drenching show'rs oppress thy bosom 

When once I wander'd o'er the level 

I spied thy simple shape bend o'er its root. 

What anguish does not the remembrance || And thusinwhisp'nng accents to myself 


That the object of htve is no more ! 
jN'ot so in the world where grace conse- 
Ev'ry moment that Heaven supplies; 
The thought of past pain, peace and joy 
but creates. 
And plea"^ure once felt, never dies. 

By Providence led to the frontier of 
When Innocence smiled upon Youth, 
Each moment of twenty-five years you 
have given 
To virtue and practical truth. 
What a rapt'rous thought I what a retro- 
spect this! 
Yet how mean to the scenes which 
Thro' eternity's flight, in that wide wpfid 
of bliss. 
Where your jubilee never shall end ! 

"Tliank Heav'n, the frozen blast and 

cheerless scenes 
Of winter now are past; and that the Spring 
Comes tripping on, I know, for of her race. 
All-beauteous andof various hues, behold 
The first-born here ! O bounteous sun ! 

do thou. 
From day to day, increase thy glorious 

heat ; 
And come, thou daughter of this vernal 

No unapt emblem of the spotless maid. 
When in the morning of her life s^e 

All innocence and ease — come, thou my 

Shajt deck, and there when thee I turn to 

Blest Ileav'n I'll thank, and call thee 

messenger of Spring." 

R. B. 

April 26, 18t6o 

L. Harrison, Printer, 373, Strand. 

• « o 

1? 9 







Manufactures^ ^c. 


Vol. II. 

August 1, 1810. 

N<^ VHI, 


1. Portrait of his Serene Highness Prince LEOroLD of Saxe-Cobukg- 


2. Garuenek's Cottage ......... 03 

.*i.' liADiEs' Evening Dress . . . . . . . . .IIS 

4. Walking Dress ......... ih. 

5. DiNING-RoOM WlNUOwCuRTAlNS ....... 121 

(i. Pattern for Needle-Wouk. 


Architectural Hinls. A Gardener's 

Cottage 63 

Arrhiteeliinil Rtview.— The new Street 
and Buildings near Carlton-House. Oa 
the State of the Arts in Eiisli\i)it, and 
the Keporl of the Committee of the 
House of Comninns on the Elgii\ Mar- 
bles. On the Diftt-icnce of the Greciau 
and Ilonian Doric 64 

Chronological Survey of the most eminent 
Artists to the Connicnccment of the 
Sixteenth Century. — Architects; Pe- 
riod ill which they flourished J princi- 
pal Woiks and Merits Gs 


and Account of an Experiment made 

with it by Dr. Haniel oi 

The Female 'I'attier.— No. VIII . . . 9,1 
Some Particulars of the Bnttle of Water- 
Ion, in a Letter from a Serjeant in the 



Kalkorenner's INIarche suivie dts Va- 
riations 104 

EciNEoand Marescotti's Non Feli- 
cior alter 105 

Parke's Fare thee well ! il,. 

Cramer's Hibernian Air io(i 

Smith's Answer to " Jessy, the Flower of 
Dnmblane" ib. 

Hov, ell's Roy's Wife of Alldivaloch . itr 


On the Loss of Weight in cooking INIeat, 

both boiled and roasted . .\ . . 70 L Remarkable Apparition, from James's 

Receipt for making Gooseberry and Cur- 
rant Wine ib. 

Stibiif itutc for Wheatcn Flour for the Pur- 
pose of stitfening Muslins, Calicoes, 
and other Stufl's 73 

New Method of japanninjj Leather 
Process of I5kachin|j old Books and Prints 
that are become yellow by .AgeorSmoke ib. 


Anecdotes <»f Count Arancia 75 

Ante lotc of AJ. de Bougainville ... 76 


The Bazaar of Beauty 76 

The Fashionable Match-Maker ... 79 

Humanity Rewarded 82 

The Danger of the smallest Deviation 
from Trutli illustrated. By AvglstUS 

VON Kotzebue 86 

DescriptionofSir Humphry Daw's Lamp 
fur piereutiug Explosions in Mines, 

Travels 107 

Russian Administration of Justice, from 
ditto 109 

The Emperor of Morocco, from K eat- 
in ge's Traieln 11,) 

Dei<raded State of the Jews in IMorocio, 
fiom ditto 112 

African Jugglers and Serpent-Tamers, 
from ditto 116 


Ladies' Evening Dress 1I8 

Walkinc Dress 16. 

General Observations ou Fashions and 
Dress 119 

Fashionable Furniture. — Dining-Rooui 
Window- Curtains 


Extracts from <' The Rival Roae&'' 




L Harrison, Printer, 373, Strand. 


Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are requested to transmit 
announcements of works which they may have in hand, and we shall cheerfully insert 
them, as we have hitherto done, free of expetise. New inusicul publications also, if 
a copy be addressed to the publisher, shall be duly noticed, in our Review ; and extracts 
from new books, of a moderate length and of an interesting nature, suitable for our 
Selections, will be acceptable. 

We present our Subscribers this month ivith a fine Portrait of his Serene High' 
ness Prince Leopold of Saxe Coburg-Saalfeld, ivhich we have no doubt will he 
a most xvelcome accompaniment to the Biographical Anecdotes of that illustrious 
character given in our last Number, to which, ivhen the volume is complete, the en- 
graving will of course be removed by the binder. 

Celinda, Solomon Sapient, and our Paris correspondent, shall have an early 

We regret that any personality should have been discovered by Arabella, xvhere 
we assure her none was intended. 

The approbation which several of our correspondents are pleased to bestow on the 
New Series of the Repository, is highly gratifying, and will stimulate us to increased 
exertion to deserve their good opinion. 

Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every IMonth as 
published, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New-York, Halifax, Quebec, and 
to any part of the West Indies, at £4 I2s. per Annum, by Mr. Thornhill, of the General 
Post-Office, at No. 21, Sherborne- Lane ; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, or 
any Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 )2s. per Annum, by Mr. Serjeant, of the General 
Post-Office, at No. 22, Sherborne- lane ; and to the Cape of Good Hope, or any part of the 
East Indies, by Mr. Guy, at the East-India House. The money to be paid at the time of 
subscribing, fur either 3, 6, 9, or 12 months. 

C-AKBEIfJER >" '^ '"^TTAvGlE 





Manufactures^ ^c» 


Vol. II. 

August 1, 1816. 

]N« VIII. 



PLATE 7. — A gardener's COTTAGE. 

Although the annexed design 
was made expressly for the resi- 
dence of the gardener of a nohle- 
inan'sestablisliment, it is quite ap- 
plicable to the purpose of a lodge; 
and if a little simplified in point 
of embellishment, would also be 
proper for the cottage of the hus- 
bandman : in each of tiiese appli- 
cations it would afford convenience 
and comfort, and might receive 
suitable enrichment by the planta- 
tions which should surround the | 
two former, or by the more free 
and open scenery suitable to the ; 
latter. The cottage of the gar- ' 
dener, in very many instances, is 
considered to be a legitimate em- i 
bellishment of the grounds, being 
very properly situated near the 

teresiing, provided the desijni is 
favourable, and the situation ap- 
propriate to its object. 

This building is proposed to be 
thatched with reeds, as the most 
rural and picturesque covering; 
the brown tints of its surface op- 
pose the various greens of the fo- 
liage by which it is accompanied, 
and give a neatness of effect that 
is very prepossessing, which maybe 
iniproved by the colour given to the 
walls, should they be built of ma- 
terials that do not harmonize with 
them. For the covering of such 
walls rough-cast is very proper, 
which is plastering finished by a 
coatof lime n)ixed with small stones 
about the size of a pea or small 
bean, and splashed upon it before 

forcing and succession-houses, that j the plastering is yet dry; or by 
they may receive the attendance of I paretta work, so called from the 
the chief gardener, and with as ' French parnUre, to appear, to be 

short intervals as occasion requires ; 
and if he take pride in the deco- 
ration of his al)ode, he has the 
means ofembowerins it with shrubs, 
creepers, and flowering plants, by 

seen — or from the Italian parettUy 
a small net ; as in this case the plas- 
tering has pebbles of a larger size 
pressed all over it, and which are 
not afterwards covered by lime, 

which he may render it highly in- ' wash, or colour, but exhibit their 
rul. IF. No. nil. K 



own surfaces, and the wliole be- 
comes enriched by the white re- 
ticulation of the plastering in which 
they are set. The colours of the 
pebbles should be selected with 
taste, as much of the beauty of 
the whole will depend on their fit- 
ness to harmonize with those hues 
by which tliey are surrounded. 

Notwithstanding cottages of this 
description are built with brick, yet 
as the complexion of them is at 
variance with the green tints of 
the scenery, particularly if they 
are the red wood -burned bricks of 
the country, the coverings before 
named are usually adopted for siuall 
decorative baildinfjs, such as the 
dairy, dovecote, ice-well, or bath ; 

and for this purpose also a finishing 
of a very novel and fanciful effect 
is produced by a sort of rough-cast 
composed of coarse sand and small 
pebbles of various sizes, mixed up 
with Roman cement, and diluted to 
the consistency of common rough- 
cast, and thrown upon the walls in 
larger quantities than is usual : this 
is suffered to take theirreffular and 
projecting formso^ stalactitte, those 
concretions resembling icicles that 
are frequently found in natural 
grottoes ; and they may be coloured 
afterwards by tints representing 
them, or by others that seem to 
mark a lapse of time: this has hi- 
therto been practised only in two 


No. vir. 


The proposed new street from 
Carlton- House northward to Port- 
land-Place has made some progress 
at both these extremities. In the 
immediate neighbourhood of the 
former, the arrangements promise 
to form a very picturesque and rich 
embellishment to that part of the 
town, which being so intimatel}' 
connected with the royal palaces 
of St. James and Carlton-House, 
might be expected to aspire to a 
higher claim of architectural dis- 
tinction than it has hitherto pos- 
sessed. The Ionic Iniilding already 
erected, and which, according lo 
the plans, is to be repeated on the 
opposite side of the new street, is 
highly creditable to the architect; 
the authoriiies are v/ell selected, 
judiciously a|)plied, and the ba- 
lustrade above t!ie colonnades is 
well adapted to the concealment of 

the roof, strictly architectural, and 
highly beneficial to the contour of 
the building. 

This design promises to produce, 
by the projecting colonnades of 
this and the centre buildings, a 
never-ceasing variation of light and 
shade, that will be highly pictorial, 
and form a striking relief to the 
other houses in the neighbourhood. 
The parts of this building are com- 
posed with reference to ancient 
documents, although not strictly 
copied, nor indeed intended to be 
so: they are in good proportion, 
but the subordinate parts, such as 
the architraves, archivolts, and cor- 
nices to the doors and windows, 
arc scarcely of corresponding di- 
mensions; an error originatiiigsome 
years ago, when the extreme of what 
was termed "lightness" was culti- 
vated in architecture with the ex-= 



ress tliat usually accompanies every 
chaiioe in the tlieory of ait, but 
which shonkl be remedied by the 
better knowledge and improved 
taste of the present times. As these 
buildings are yet in a very early 
stage of progress, further observa- 
tions upon their architectural me- 
rits would be premature, except 
that they are well calculated to ob- 
viate some of the objections that 
have been made to the screen in 
front of Carlton-House; which in- 
deed has not escaped the severities 
of criticisn), without receiving the 
due mixture of approbation that 
in several points it has fair claim 

If we view this substitute for a 
screen-wall, and it really is so, as 
an architectural separation of the 
courtof the mansion from the street, 
surely it will be granted, that to be 
thus open is superior in point of 
beauty, particularly as it is situa- 
ted, to such close and continued 
wallsas thoseof Burlington-House, 
Harcourt- House, the Admiralty, 
or the British Museum. Had it \ 
been of this inclosed kind, how- 
ever ornamented by architectural ' 
beauty, yet being on the south- 
east side of the street, and conse- 
quently deprived of the sun's rays 
on the side next to Pall-Mall, it 
must have thrown a ploom over 
that part of it which no eftort of 
art could have made cheerful, and 
no judgment could have tolerated. 
The facade of Burlington-House 
is semicircular on its, north-western i 
aspect, and it was erected for the 
purpose of obtaining an ornament- j 
al embellishment to the fore court, 
at a very great expense : its form . 
is most judiciously contrived, be- \ 
cause the extremities receive, bv 

their approach to other aspects, as 
much of the sun's rays as the in- 
tervening part of the edifice will 
permit. Soon after its erection, 
its noble architect, Lord Burling- 
ton, was highly complimented upon 
it by one of the hist wits of our 
country; but being aware that its 
beauties were not fully manifested 
at all times of the day, he took es- 
pecial care to remark, that the pe- 
riod of his admiration was early in 
the morning, when viewing it from 
his bed-room window, and when 
its noble possessor was asleep. 
The screen of Carlton-House is 
said to have originated from this 
model, but was of necessity de- 
signed upon a plan deviating very 
,[ little from a straight line on both 
I its elevations, for the ground of 
; the fore court is of very limited 
i dimensions; and it was then con- 
cludcvl, that the the street was not 
I wide enough to allow a further pro- 
jection. A screen was, however, 
considered to be necessary, not more 
for the common uses of suchscj)ara- 
; tions, than in consequence of the 
impossibility of obtaining otherwise 
that relief to the front of C'arlton- 
' House, always in shadow, that was 
desirable both for its splendour and 
j palace-like pretensions. To pro- 
1 ducethis effect, such an open screen 
is applicable; for the round pillars 
receive the sun's rays upon so much 
of their surfaces, that they produce 
a cheerfulness, at all liuu's of the 
i day, that is greatly embellishing to 
Pall-Mall ; and when seen from the 
portico of Carlton-House, with the 
1 full effect of the sun upon it, it 
: certainly possesses many beauties, 
! althoush it has not the meatis of 
I effecting great depth of shadow; 
' and it may be applauded for em- 
K 2 


bracing in this point of view, in 
every iionr of the day, many of 
the graces which the iayade at Bur- 
lington-House was eulogized for 
displaying chiefly at the early hour 
at which some poets and most phi- 
losophers choose to rise in the 

Some liints have been given out, 
that it is proposed to remove the 
screen, and on this account per- 
haps so much is said in advocation 
of its merits: it is not, however, 
here maintained, that a subject may 
not be devised of much greater 
beauty, but it ought to embrace all 
the advantages that the present 
facade possesses, both as a deco- 
ration to the street and as a cheer- 
ful appendage to the mansion. The 
order of this screen, which is the 
Grecian Ionic,isjudicious]y adopt- 
ed from a fine example of antiqui- 
ty; the proportions are good, and 
if the design were completed ac- 
cording to the original intention, 
the effect would be greatly im- 
proved ; as it would also by remov- 
ing the tripods which too frequently 
repeat the upriglit lines of the 
pillars, and by the substitution of 
other forms more in harmony with 
theprevailingfeatures of the build- 

Of several letters received from 
correspondents on the subject of 
this paper, the following are se- 
lected and presented to our read- 

Sir, — It is not possible to view 
with indifference the improvements 
of the metropolis that have taken 
place in a very few years, and which 
are now proceeding in several parts 
of the town : for, notwithstanding 
theapathy that long existed towards 
our architectural works, and a too 

willing submission to the sarcasm 
of our continental neighbours, that 
the climate was inauspicious to the 
cultivation of art, I agree with you, 
that an era has arrived in which 
public feeling has joined issue with 
the research and talent of our own 

The affectation of superior taste 
for virtu, which in the would-be 
connoisseur was supported by a 
scornful disregard for native, and 
indeed for modern, art, is found to 
be not quite so successful as here- 
tofore : better taste and a more 
general knowledge have made use- 
less this easy and plausible appro- 
priation of the honours belonging 
to true feeling, and have nearly 
abolished tliis specious system of 
self-adulation, so often supported 
at a sacrifice of the character of the 

The criticisms that were judi- 
cious half a century ago are so no 
longer; foreigners are found to 
pay tributes of admiration to our 
works; and if we ourselves revert 
to them, unbiassed by the preju- 
dices of early times, matter will be 
found on which to congratulate 
ourselves, and to encourage us to 
pursue with zeal and confidence 
that object, which our political 
economy, our wealth and interest, 
are so well calculated to foster and 
promote; and it must be agreeable 
to every lover of the arts, to find the 
following sentin)ents entertained 
by the legislature of the country, 
and which arp thus expressed in 
the report from the select commit- 
tee of the House of Commons on 
the Earl of Elgin's collection of 
sculptured marbles: — 

*' Your committee cannot dismiss 
this interesting subject, without 



submitting to the altcntivc reHcc- 
tioii of the House, how highly the 
cullivatiou ot" the fine arts has eoii- 
tribiitecl to tlie roijutation, eharac- 
ter, and dignity of every govern- 
ment by which they have been en- 
couraged, and how intimately they 
are connected uitii the advance- 
ment of every tiling vaUiable in 
science, literature, and philosophy. 
In contemplating the im|)ortance 
and s|)lendour to which so small a 
republic as Athens rose, by the 
genius and energy of lier citizens 
exerted in the patli of such studies, 
it is impossible to overlook, how 
transient the memory and fame of 
extended empires and of mighty 
conquerors are, in comparison of 
those who have rendered inconsi- 
derable states eminent, and immor- 
talized their own names by these 
pursuits. But if it be true, as we 
learn from iiistory and experience, 
that free governments allord a soil 
most suitable to the production of 
native talent, to the maturing of 
the powers of the human mind, 
and to the growth of every species 
of excellence, by opening to merit 
the prospect of reward and dis- 
tinction, no country can be better 
adapted than our own to afford an 
honourable asylum to these monu- 
ments of the school of Phidias, and 
of the administration of Pericles; 
where, secure from further injury 
and degradation, they may receive 
that admiration and homajxe to 
which they are entitled, and serve, 
in return, as models and examples 
to those, who, by knowing how to 
revere and appreciate them, may 
learn first to imitate, and ultimate- 
ly to rival them." 

If the above observations and ex- 
tract are suitable to the Architec- 

tural Review, I am ha|j|)y to sub- 
scribe them to its useful object. 


Sir, — Your observations on the 
differences between the Grecian 
and Roman orders of architecture 
have led me to reflect on the sub- 
ject ; and ;is there are yet some not 
noticed by you in the fifth number of 
the Review, I beg leave to suggest 
the propriety of noticing them in 
a future paper. The peculiar fea- 
tures of the Doric order are the 
triglyphs, and the consequent ar- 
rangement of the metopes. The 
triglyi)hs, representing the ends of 
timbers, or transverse blocks of 
stone, are, in the Roman order, 
placed centrally over every column, 
and the intervals between the co- 
lumns are thus rendered equal, if 
so desired, marking a clear dis- 
tinction from the Greek arrange- 
ment, which has the triglyphs at 
the angles of the building, placed 
quite at the extremity of the frieze, 
so that the nietopes next to thera 
in order, to preserve a regular in- 
tcrcolumniation, must be longer 
than the other metopes by half the 
width of one of them, otherw ise the 
uniformity of interval must be sa- 
crificed, and the columns at the 
corners be placed so much closer 
together. In this jiarticular, I pre- 
sume the Roman arrantjement to 
be superior to that of the Greeks. 
Not so with the architrave of the 
Grecian Doric order, which is about 
the same height as the frieze; and 
taking the whole entablature, con- 
sisting of architrave, frieze, and 
cornice, to be two tiiameters of the 
column in height, the ej)isiyliuni 
and frieze will each occupy three- 
quarters of a diameter, and the 


cornice half a diameter. This pro- 
portion makes the architrave to be 
of a substance that is apparently 
fully equal to bear the superin- 
cumbent weight of the triglyphs, 
or beam-ends : whereas the archi- 
trave of the Roman Doric order, 
being usually less than half a dia- 
meter high, seems to be too weak 
to support its own weight, and is 
consequently overcharged by the 
weight above it. The eflPect of this 
is very painful to a correct eye. 

The abacus, or covering of the 
capital of the column, being quite 
plain in the Greek, and ornament- 
ed by mouldings in the Roman 
model, presents a decided differ- 
ence of character ; and this is more 
evident in the form of the echynus 
or ovolo, and the annulets or fillets 
beneath them. B. B. 

It is requested, that correspond- 
ence addressed to the writer of this 
article, maybe forwarded before the 
end of the current month. 


CContinved from p. \'2.) 


Baccio PiNTELLi, of Florencp, 1450. 
Church and convent of S. Maria del 
Popolo, at Rome. The celebrated 
Capella Sislina in the Vatican. The 
hospital of S. Spiiito in Sassia, Ponte 
Sisto, and the church of S. Pietro in 
Vinculis, at Rome. He first set the 
example of grandeur in the architec- 
ture of chapels. 

Bartolomeo Bramantino, of Italy, 
1 450. The church of S. Safyrus at Mi- 
lan, Many other buildings in various 
cities of Italy. 

Giovanni del Pozzo, of Spain, 1450. 
The Dominican convent, and a great 
bridge over the river Huecar, near 

Francesco di Giorgio, of Siena, 1450. 
The ducal palace at Urbino. 

EiDOLFO FioRAVANTi, of Bologna, 1450. 
He restored the hanging tower of the 
church of S. Biagio, at Cento, to Its 
perpendicular position, and built 
many churches at Moscow. 

Bratviante Lazzari, of Castel Durante, 
near Urbino, 1 470. He first designed 
and commenced the building of St. 

Peter's, at Rome. He executed many 
works in the Vatican, the Rotunda 
in the convent of S. Pietro Montorio, 
at Rome; the Julia street in that city; 
the ducal palace at Urbino; a detach- 
ed circular temple near Todi ; and 
designed many plans for other edi- 
fices. He manifested a decided pre- 
dileclion for the ancient Greek style. 

Ventura ViTONi, of Pistoja, 1470. The 
church dell Umilta, at Pistoja. 

Francesco Giamberti, of Florence, 
1470. He designed numerous plans 
for buildings at Florence and Rome, 
but was chiefly remarkable for a work 
composed by him, containing many 
drawings of ancietit monuments about 
Rome and in Greece, upon parch- 
ment, which is preserved in the Bar- 
berini library at Rome, and has never 
been published. 

GiuLiANO 1)1 Sangallo, SOU of Giam- 
berti, of Florence, 1490. The Car- 
melite convent at Florence. A pa- 
lace at Cajano, for Lorenzo di Medi- 
cis. The convent of the hermits of 
St. Augustin, before the gate of S. 
Gallo, at Florence. Cupola of the 
church della Madonna, at Loreto. 
Restoration of the roof of the church 
of S. Maria Maggiore, at Rome. The 


Palaz/A) Rovere, nr;,r S. Pietro in Vin- 
culis, atRo!i:e. Tik; Palazzu Eovere, 
at Savonu. i he fDrfrc^s ami gate of S. 
Marco, at Pisa, ]\l-,ny other palaces. 
He was tiDincni for his .vk II it» ihe 
morltTii style of forlilicalion. 
Leonahho i)\ Vinci, of Ca.sicllo da Vin- 
ci, neai rioience, 14-90. The aque- 
duct of the Adda, at Milan, iiiidei 
Liidovico Sforza, the ivioor 'Mie na- 
vigable canal di Moitesaiia, in the 
valleys of the Valtelin. Various ma- 
chines', plans, aiul uoilis on archilcc- 
SiMONE Pallajolo, otf Floiencc, I WO. 
Facade of tht; Palazzo Strozzi, at Flo- 
rence. Church of Si. Francis, at S. 
Miniato, near Florence, called by Mi- 
chael Ant^elo La Bella Villanella. 
Convent of ihe St;rvites, at Florence. 
Sacristy of S. Spirito, at Florence. 
His style di-^played great taste. 
Andrea Contucci, of Monte Sansovi- 
no, 1490. The beautiful chapel del 
Sa;irairjento in S. Spirito, at Florence. 
Many buildings in Portugal. 
Baccio d'Agnolo, of Florence, IjOO. 
The beautiful steeple of S. Spirito, at 
Floreiu e. A steeple at Majaro. The 
Palazzo Banolini. at Florence. 
NovELLo UA San Lucano, of Naples, 
J 300. The palace of Prince Robert 
Sanseverino, Duke of Salerno, at Na- 
Raffaei.lo n'UnBiNO, of Uibino, 1.500. 
Continuation of the cathedral of St. 
Peter, at Rome, after the death of 
Braniante. Fagade of the church 
of S. Lorenzo, and of the Palazzo U";- 
goccioni, now Pandolfini, at F'lorence. 
The Palazzo Cafiiarelli, now Stoppani, 
at Rome. Subordinate buildings of 
theFarncsina in the same city. Se- 
veral other buildings. Tasteful style. 
Gabrjlllo d'Agnolo, of Naples, 1500. 
Church of S. Giuseppe, church of S. 
Maria Egiziaca. palace of Duke Gia- 
vina, at Naples. 
GiAN Francesco Normando, of Flo- 
.renco, 1500. Church of S. Scverino, 

I Palazzo Fil'^marini. Palazzo Can^a- 
I lupo in the Posilipo, at Naples. Se- 
veral buildings in Spain. 
Antonio F'imuentino, of Florence, 
1500. Church of S. Catherine, with 
a cupola, which is said to have been 
the first erected upon a large scale at 
Baldassare Peruzzi, ofVoltcrra, 1500. 
Plan and model of the cathedral di 
Carpi, at Bolngna. Fortifications »t 
Siena. The Farnesina in the Lon- 
gaia, the Palazzo Massimi, and the 
tomb of Pope Hadii;in W. in the 
church dell' Anima, at Rome. He 
assisted in the erection of Si. I'e'er's 
in that city, and was distinguished for 
a tasteful style. 
FuaGiocondo, of Verona, 1500. Many 
bridges, especially that of Noire 
Dame, at Paris. He was engaged in 
the erection of St. Peter's, at Rome, 
after the death of Bramante. 
PiETRO LoMBARDo, of Venice, 1.500. 
Tomb of Dante, the poet, in the church 
of St. Francis, at Ravenna, by com- 
mand of Cardinal Bembo. Churches 
of S. Paolo, S. Giovanni, S. Maria 
Mater Domini, and clock-tower in llie 
.square of St. Mark, aL \'eiiice. 
Martino Lombardo, of V^enice, 1500. 
The Confraterniia of S. Marco, at 
Bartolkmeo Buono, of Bergamo, 1500. 
Church of S. Hocco, and the Procu- 
ratoreria Vecchia, at Venice. 
Antonio Sangallo, of Mugcl'o, near 
Florence, 1500. The church of (he 
Madona di Lorrto, near Trajan's pil- 
lar, and the Palazzo of the Conte 
Palma, at Rome. The fortifications 
of Civiia Vecchia. The forliticaiions 
of Parma, Ancona, and many other 
strong places in Italy. Triumphal 
arch in the square of St. Mark, at 
Venice. He commenced the build- 
ing of the Palazzo Farnesc at Rome, 
and assisted in the works at St. Peter's 
till 15+6. He displayed great per- 
fection in all the parts of the style 


adopted in modern architecture, and 
combined grandeur with good taste 
and solidity. 
Sante LoMBARDO, of Venice, 1520. The 
Palazzo Vendramini, staircase and fa- 
cade of the school of S. Rocco, at 
GuGLiELMO Bergamasco, of Bergamo, 
1520. The Capella limiliana of the 
Camaklulen^es at Murano. The Pa- 
lazzo de Cuiuerlinghi on the RiaUo, 
at Venice. Palace at Portogruato, 
in the Friul. The admirable gate 
called 11 Portello, at Padua. 
Giovanni Maria Falconetto, of Ve- 
rona, 1520 The churcli della Ma- 
dona delle Grazie, for the Dominicans, 
at Padua. A palace in the Caste! 
d'Usopo, in the Friul. The Palazzo 
Cornaro, at Padua. 
Girolamo Genoa, of Urbino, 1530. A 
paUice fur the Duke of Urbino, at 
Pesaro. Facade of the cathedral at 
MiCHELO Sanmicheli, of Verona, 1520. 
Cathedral of Monte Fiascone. The 
celebrated church of St. Dominic, at 
Orvieto. A great number of fortresses 
in the Venetian territory, in Corfu, 
Lombardy, and the Ecclesiastical State. 
Many palaces at Verona, the prin- 
cipal of which are the following five : 
Canossa, Bevilacqua, Pellegrini, Ver- 
zi, and the Praefecturel Many gates 
at Verona, of which that del Pallio 
is the most celebrated. He was an 
artist of great merit, and distinguish- 
ed fur his improvements in fortifica- 
Michelangelo Bonarotti, of Flo- 
rence, J 520. The library of the Me- 
dicis, at Florence. The second sa- 
cristy of Lorenzo, at the same place. 
Fortifications at Florence and at St. 
Miniato. Monument of Julius II. in 
the church of S. Pietro in Vinculis, at 
Rome. Palace of the Conservators, 
and flight of steps in the Capitol, at 
Rome. Continuation of the Farne<e 
palace, and several gates at Rome, 

among which the Porta Pia deserves 
particular mention. The steeple of 
S. Michele, at Ostia. The tower of 
S. Lorenzo, at Ardea. The church of 
S. Maria in the Certosa, at Rome. 
Many plans of churches, chapels, and 
palaces; among others, that of the 
Capella Strozzi, at Florence, and the 
Sapienza, at Rome. After the death 
of Sangallo, he was engaged in pro- 
secuting the works of St. Peter's, at 
Rome, especially that part which sup- 
ports the cupola. Flis chief merits 
were grandeur, boldness, beauty, and 
Mastro FiLippo, of Spain, 1520. Re- 
storation of the celebrated cathedral 
of Seville. 
Giovanni diOlolzaga, of Biscay, 1520. 
Cathedral of Huesca, in Arragon. He 
blended the modern Greek style with 
the Gothic. 
I PiETRO Di Gum 1 el, of Spain, 1520. 
j Convent of S. Engracia, at Saragossa. 
College of Alcala, in the Gothico- 
I Greek style. 

i Giovanni Alonso, of Spain, 1520. Ce- 
lebrated sanctuary of Guadelupe. 
! Fra Giovanni d'Escobedo, of Spain, 
I 1520. Grand aqueduct of Segovia, 
constructed by order of Queen Isa- 
bella — the first celebrated aqueduct 
of modern times. 
Giovanni Campero, of Spain, 1520. 
Church and convent of St. Francis, at 
Fordelaguna, erected by command of 
Cardinal Ximenes. Gloomy style. 
Marco di Pino, of Siena, 1530. Church 
and convent of Gesu Vecchio, at Na- 
Andrea Brioso, of Padua, 1530. Beau- 
tiful church of St. Giustina, at Padua. 
Alessandro Bassano, ofBassano, 1530. 
Council-house in the Piazza de Sig- 
nori, at Padua. 
Ferdinando Manlio, of Naples, 1530. 
Churchof theNunziata; several streets 
and palaces at Naples. 
Giulio Pippi, surnamed Romano, of 
Rome, 1530. Villa Madaraa, Casino 



Lante, church dclla Maclona ilel ()i!o, 
Palazzo Cicciaporci, Palazzo Ceiiti,al 
Rome. The celebrated Palazzo T. ai 
Mantua ; the palace at Marmirolo, 
near Mantua; besides many other 
buildings in that city. Facade of S. 
Petronio, at Bologna. His style was 
highly cheerful and pleasing. 

J.\coBo Tatti, surnanied Sansovino, of 
Florence, 1330. Church of S. jMar- 
cello, and the Palazzo Nicolini, at 
Rome. Church of S. Francesco della 
Vigna, the Mint, library nf St. IMark, 
and the Palazzo Cornari, at Venice. 
Beautiful church of San Fantino, 
church of San Geminiano, with many 
other buildings there. He displaced 
a remarkably pure taste in the Lom- 
bard style. 

Giovanni IMehliano, of Nola, 1530. 
Street of Toledo, church of the Geno- 
ese, church of the Spaniards, plan of 
the palace of San Scvero, and of the 
palace of the Duca della Torre, at 

Giovanni Gil de Hontanon, of Spain, 
] 530. Plan of the cathedral of Sala- 

RoDRiGO Gil de Hontanon, of Spain, 
I 5+0, He superintended the erection 
of the cathedial of Salamanca. The 
cathedral of Segovia. 

PiETRO DE UuiA, of Spain, 1540. The 
celebrated bridge of Almaraz over the 

Alonso de CoDAURuniAS, of Spain, 
15 1-0. Repair of the church of Tole- 
do, erected in 587, during the reign of 
King Reccaredo. Facade of the Alca- 
ziar, in the sameciiy. Convent and 
church of St. iNIichael, at Yalenza. 

Diego Siloe, of Toledo, 151-0. The 
cathedral and Alcaziar at Granada. 
The church and convent of St. Jerome, 
in the same city. 

Damiano FouMENT, of Valenza, 1550. 
Fa9ade of the chur^ h of S. Engracia, 
at Saragossa. 

Mautino de Gainza, of Spain, 1550. 
The magnificent chapel rova! at Seville. 
VoL IF. No, rilL 

Alonso Berulcuete, of Parades, near 
Valladolid, 1550. Plan of the former 
royal palace at Madrid. Gale of S. 
Marlino, at Toledo. Palace of Alcala, 
in that city. He assisted in the erec- 
tion of the cathedral of Cuenza. 

PiETRo de Valdf.vira, of Valdcvim, 
1550. The remarkably beautiful 
chapel of S. Salvator at L'beda, and 
likewise a palace in the same place. 
The hospital and chapel of S. Jago, at 

PiETRO EzGUERRA, of Ojc-bar, near Pe- 
rayas, 1550. Cathedral of Plasencia. 
Church of S. Matteo de Caceres. 
Church of Malpartida. 

Ferdinando Ruiz, of Cordova, 1550. 
He heiLHiteneil the great stee[)le of the 
cathedral of Seville, tailed llie Torre 
della Giralda. 

Machuca, of Spain, 1550. Royal pa- 
lace at Granada. 

DoMENico Teotocopoli, of Greece, 
15tiO. College of the Dmina Maria 
d'Aragona, at Madrid. Church and 
convent of the Dominican nuns, and 
likewise the Ayuntamiento, at Tole- 
do. Church and convent of the Ber- 
nardino nun<, at Silos. Gloomy style. 

Garzia d'Emere, of Spain, 1560. Pa- 
rochial church of Valern, nearCuenza. 

Bartolomfo 01 Blstamente, ofSpain, 
15tiO. Hospital of St. John the Bap- 
tist, near Toledo. 

GiovANBATTisTA Di ToLEPO, of Tole- 
do, 15t)0. The celebrated palace of 
theEscurial was built after his designs. 
He assisted in planning the street of 
Toledo at Naples; the church of St. 
Jago, belonging lo the Sj.^aniards; and 
a palace at Posilipo, in the sarar. city. 
The Escurial was the tirst palace upon 
an extensive scale in Europe. 

Giovanni d'Hei^rera, of Movellar, in 
Astoria, 1570. He continued the Escu- 
rial after the deaih of his master Gin- 
vanbaltisia. Plan of the church of St, 
Jago, nearCuenza. Bridge of Segovia, 
at Madrid. The palace of Aranjuez. 
(To he continued. J 



Containing authentic Receipts and vuscellaneons Information in every Branch of 
Domestic Economjj, and of general Utility. 


In whatever way the flesh of 
animals is cooked as an article of 
food, a considerable diminution 
takes place in its weight. It is sin- 
gular, that no experiments have 
been made for the benefit of the 
public on this subject, for it is evi- 
dent they would beof useto the fru- 
gal housekeeper and the public at 
large. The following experiments 
were made in a public establish- 
ment; they were undertaken not 
from mere curiosity, but to serve 
a purpose of practical utility. They 
evidently show, that the loss of 
weiji'ht is smaller in th.e boiling; of 
meat, than it is in roasting it; and 
independent of this smaller loss of 
weight in boiling, it must be ob- 
served, that the animal jelly and 
juices of the meat are also render- 
ed edible in the broth furnished at 
the same time, by the addition of 
a few vegetables, rice, barley, &c. : 
whereas in the roasting, broilinof, 
and baking of meat, these are eva- 
porated into the air, and conse- 
qjiently lost. Whether roasted or 
boiled meat is more nutritious, is 
a question on which I cannot speak : 
my medical friends believe, that 
boiled animal food is more nutri- 
tious than such as is roasted, broil- 
ed, or baked. The following are 
the results of the experiments: — 
28 Pieces of beef, weighing 2S0//).s. 

lost in boiling 73/66'. 14or. or 26| 

per cent. 

19 Pieces of beef, weighing IQOlbs. 
lost in roasting Qllbs. 2uz. or 32 
per cent. 

9 Pieces of beef, weighing QOlbs. 
lost in baking 27/^5. or 30 per 

27 Legs of mutton, weighing 260/^5. 
lost in boiling, and by having 
the shank bones taken away, Q2lbs. 
\oz. The shank bones were es- 
timated at 4o~. each, so that the 
real loss by the boiling was 
bblbs. 8o2. or 21^ per cent. 

19 Loins of mutton, weighing 141/6.5. 
lost in roasting Vdlbs. 140*. or 35| 
per cent. 

10 Necks of mutton, weighing 
100/6.';. lost in roasting 32/6i. Qoz. 
or 32i per cent. 

It is therefore more economical, 
upon the whole, to boil than to roast 
meat; but in whatever way meat 
is prepared for the table, there is 
lost from i to -^ of its weight. 


In laying before our readers a 
receiptfor making gooseberry wine, 
to fulfil the promise we made on a 
former occasion (see Repositori/^ 
No. II. page 73), we do not pre- 
sume to say that this is the very 
same receipt that was possessed by 
the wife of the Vicar of Wake- 
field ; but v.e have no doubt it will 
produce a beverage nearly as good, 
though it may not be equally for- 
tunate in obtaining another Gold- 
smith to immortalize its excellence. 
The method of making the wine 
is as follows: — 

Put to every two quarts of full 



Tipe gooseberries, maslicd, an equal 
quantity of milk-warm water, in 
\ which liasbeen previously dissolved 
\lb. of common loaf sugar; let the 
whole liewell stirred together, and 
cover up with a blanket the tub or 
pan in which the mixture is put to 
ferment partially. When it has 
remained in the tub three or four 
days, with frequent stirring, strain 
the ingredients, first through a i 
sieve, then through a coarse cloth, 1 
and afterwards put it into a cask, : 
which should be kept full where it j 
is suffered to ferment, from ten ' 
days to a fortnight. At the end of 
this period, add two or three bot- 
tles of brandy to every gallon of 
the wine ; and before the cask is 
bunged up, put into it also a little 
isingUiss (about lor. to nine gallons 
of the wine), previously dissolved 
in water. In a fortnight, if clear 
at the top, it may be tasted, and 
more refined sugar added if not 
sweet enough. After being six 
months in the cask, it may be bot- 
tled; but the sooner it is bottled 
after being quite fine, the more it 
will sparkle and resemble cham- 

Currant wine may be made in a 
like manner. Brown sugar always 
gives to home-made wines a parti- 
cularly treacly taste; and the prac- 
tice of taking unripe gooseberries 
(as frequently recommended), in- 
stead of the ripe fruit, is a bad one, 
the absurdity of which might easily 
be proved chemically. In making 
this remark, we do not mean to 
deny that excellent wine may be 
made from unripe gooseberries ; 
but in that case a much larger 
proportion of sugar is required, 
than if the fruit be employed in a 
state of maturity. 

SUliSTITUTK rori WHEATEX i-r.ouff, 

From some ex|)eriincnts made in 
the manufactories of linens in Prus- 
sia, and particularly at Erfurth, in 
Saxony, to discover a substitute 
forwheaten flour to stiil'en muslins, 
&c. it has been found, that the 
farfiift, or hour, of the Canary seed 
(Fkaiaris Cauariemis), is far supe- 
rior to wheaten flour in the stiffen- 
ing of fine cambrics or muslins; 
because it renders the threads ex- 
tremely pliable, and imparts to 
them the capability of retaining a 
minute portion of moisture, the 
absenceofwliich renders the thread 
brittle; and which, in summer par- 
ticularly, is a material obstacle in 
the business of the cambric and 
muslin-weaver. The warp is like- 
wise rendered more tender, and 
the thread possessing greater plia- 
bility, enables the workman lo make 
the tissue more close and uniform, 
and of al)eiier quality. 
\ The flour of the seed is obtain- 
ed by simply bruising the Canary 
i seed, and it may be used in a few 
days after its preparation : v. hcreas 
I the common wheaten flour paste 
! requires to lie fermented to a cer- 
1 tain degree. And although the 
I price of the Canary seed flour sur- 
passes that of the flour of wheat, 
this difl'erence is compensated by 
i the time which the workman gains 
!| in manufacturing a certain quan- 
'1 tity of goods in a given period, and 
j! also by the superiority of the ma- 
nufactured article. It is needless 
to state, that the Canary seed gras§- 
thrives well in this country. 
L 2 




To the Editor. 
Sir, — I take tlie liberty of for- 
warding to you a description of 
the new method of japanning lea- 
ther which has of late been |jrac- 
tised in this metropolis, by a native 
of Germany, from whose countrv 
this process is said to be imported ; 
and as the articles are extremely 
beautiful, and are rendered by the 
process under consideration imper- 
vious to wet, with^.ut losing plia- 
bility, I have reason to believe you 
will allow these lines a corner in 
your Reposifon/. I am, &c. 

A. E. A ROLF. 

White Japan. 

This japan, which never changes 
its colour, and which absolutely 
withstands all the chemical agents 
that blacken other white pigments 
used in japanning, is obtained in 
the following manner: — 

Let some artificial carbonate of 
barytes (obtained by decomposing, 
or pouring into a solution of native 
carbonate of barytes, a saturated 
solution of subcarbonate of am- 
monia), be ground up with a suffi- 
cient quantity of white oil varnish, 
and apply it successively upon the 
leather. This being done, the fi- 
nishing coats are given to the 
article with a japan composed of 
carbonate of barytes ground up 
with white copal varnish, and when 
perfectly dr}', the leather is po- 
lished with a piece of felt and finely 
levigated pumice-stone powder, 
and the last or finishing polish is 
applied by means of a sponge or 
soft brush and burnt hartshorn 

Yellow Japan. 

To obtain a clear transparent 

yellow, the leather must of course 
be white, and a yellow dye is given 
to it by means of woad, or French 
berries, and alum ; and when per- 
fectly dry, the japan ground of 
patent yellow is applied, in the 
manner stated above. 
lied Japan. 

For this purpose, the base of 
the japan ground must be made 
up with madder lake, ground up 
with oil of turpentine; this forms 
the first ground. Vv^hen perfectly 
dry, a second coat must be applied, 
composed of lake and white copal 
varnish; and the last, with a coat 
composed of a mixture of copal 
and turpentine varnish ground up 
with lake. 

Blue Japan. 

The first coat must be given 
with artificial carbonate of barytes 
ground up with oil varnish ; the 
second with Prussian blue, ground 
in copal varnish, and finished as 
before stated. 

Black Japan 
is obtained by applying finelj?- 
levigated ivory-black ground up 
with linseed oil varnish ; the second 
coat must consist of the same pig- 
ment ground up in copal varnish. 




The process now practised for 
bleaching these articles is as fol- 
lows: — Takeoff the binding of the 
book, unsew the book and separate 
the leaves, place them in a shallow 
leaden pan, with slips of common 
window-glass interposed between 
them, so that the leaves lie hori- 
zontally without touching each 
other. Or a still better method is 
the following: — Make a wooden 



frame of about the size of the leaves 
to be bleached, and having placed 
upon it the slips of j^lass, let the 
leaves be placed upon the glass 
perpendicularly, about a line dis- 
tant tron» eacli other. This being 
done, pour inlo the vessel ilie 
bleaching liquid, which is made by 
dissolving)- one nart by vveiuht of 
oxyniurate of lime in tour pans of 
warm water, and snlier the articles 

to be immersed in it for twcnty-fonr 
hours: it may then be rinsed in 
soft water. By this process the 
[)aper will acquire a whiteness su-^ 
perior to what it originally possess- 
ed. All ink-spots, if any were 
present, will be removed ; but oil 
and grease spots are not effaced by 
it. — Copper-plate prints bleach 
more easily than letter-press. 



This nobleman filled, for a con- I transpired, the plan must havemis- 
siderable time, the situation of carried, or at least have caused 
Spanish am!>assador at the court of 
France during' the rei<rn of Louis 

some dangerous commotions. The 
count's address in this aflair was 
XVI.: before he was appointed to : much admired iu I' ranee. A lo([ua- 

that s.ituation, he had been prime 
minister of Spain. He was hiii,h!y 
respected for his integrity ami un- 
derstanding, but his total want of 
vivacity, and true Castilian liici- 
turnity and hauteur, prevented his 
being a favourite with the Pari- 
sians. He possessed, however, all 
the qualities necessary to consti- 
tute a good diplomatist; and it 
might be said ot' him in Ids cha- 
racter of ambassador, as was said 
of Louis the Fourteenth, " that no 
man ever played his part better." 
Count Aranda was charged with 
the difficult and dansrerous mea- 
sure of expelling the Je uits from 
all parts of the Spanish dominions, 
jind pri-cisely at the same day and 
hour all tlie convents were shut up. 
In order to insure the success of 
this measure, tlie most profound 
secrecy was absolutely necessar}', 
because the J suits had friends 
every where; and had any thing 

ciuus pelit-hiail re one day conipli- 
menled him upon it, and begged 
particularly to know how he ma- 
naged to transact the business 
with such perfect secrecy. " One 
means," replied he gravely, " was, 
by never speaking about it." 

He had a habit of ending his 
phrases with these words, " You 
comprehend me;" which sometimes 
produced a very ludicrous etVcct. 
One day, when he was playing at 
pharo at the Princess de Lam- 
ballc's, the banker, tiiinking that 
he had made a mistake, refused to 
pay him a game which he had won. 
The count suj^ported his preten- 
sions for some time with all his 
Castilian /lauleur, but finding tb.e 
banker continued obstinate in his 
refusal to pay him, it/. l\'luibas$a- 
deur, forgetful of his dignity, seiz- 
ed the chandelier which was in the 
middle of the table, and exclaimed 
in a great rage, " This is a candle- 



Slick, you comprehend ; and I am 
just goiMo to throw it at your head, 
you comprehend !" The banker did 
comprehend him so perfectly, that 
he ran out of the room, and it was 
with dilfirulty that he was per- 
suaded to return. 

Although tlie count had accus- 
toiued liiniself to use this phrase 

for years, he was at last corrected 
of it b}' a cutting joke of Madame 
de Beauveau, who placed it in so 
ludicrous a liglit, that the count, 
struck with the ridicule to which 
he exposed himself, immediately 
made a resolution, to which he 
strictly adhered, never to use it 


This gentleman was one of the 
aides-de-camp to General the Mar- 
quis de Levis during the war in 
Canada; and at the attack of Ti- 
conderago he was struck in the heat 
of the action on the forehead by a 
ball, which knocked him down. — 
An officer, who saw him fall, ex- 
claimed to ]\L lie Levis, who was at 
a little distance, " Ah, my God, 
poor Bougainville is killed !" The 

he should intimidate his men, and 
coolly replied," Well, he will be bu- 
ried to-morrow with many others." 
Theaide-de-camp was only stunned 
by the blow, and he heard distinct- 
ly what passed ; his passion re- 
stored him to speech, and, spring- 
ing upon his legs, lie cried out in a 
reproachful tone, " It seems, ge- 
neral, that you would be easily 
consoled for my death ; but, how- 
ever, I shall not give you the trou- 

general was much attached to Bou 

gainville, but at that tiioment durst I ble to bury me this time. 

MOt give way to his feelings, lest 


A FRIEND of mine enumerated i rangue; and I rejoiced heartily 

to me the other day, the number 
of Bazaars wliich have been opened 

when, at its conclusion, he fortu- 
j nately recollected an engagement 

in all parts of the town during the \\ which obliged him to leave me. I 

few last months: and from thence waited only till he was out of the 

he digressed to the ill consequences 1 room before I gave way to the drow 

which might result to trade from 
such a number of cheap establish- 
ments, all anxious no doubt to un- 
dersell the regular shopkeeper. As 
the subject is not a very sprightly- 
one, and my friend's discourse is 
rather of a sojiorific nature in ge- 
neral, 1 had great difficulty in keep- 
ing myself awake during his ha- 

siness I was oppressed with, and I 
soon sank into a slumber, during 
which I had the following dream. 

I fancied myself standing op- 
posite to a spacious building, over 
the door of which was written in 
large characters. Bazaar of Beau- 
ty. A number of men of all ages 
and descriptions were pressing into 



the entrance, but I diJ not observe 
a single t'enuile amongst the crowd. 
At tlie door stood a phiin-looking 
man, whose drtss was rather in the 
Quaker style, whom I supjDosed to 
"be the porter. I perceived him 
accost several as they entered, but 
each appeared to turn from him 
with apparent disregard : he ad- 
vanced towards me as I approach- 
ed, and saying, that if my visit to 
the Bazaar proceeded, as he sup- 
posed it ilid, from an intention to 
take a wife from it, he would attend 
me through it, as he could be use- 
ful in advising me respecting the 
purchase of any of the lots set up 
for sale. Having seen him reject- 
ed by so niany, I was upon the 
point of refusing his oft'er, but 
upon looking clostl}' at him, I re- 
cognised my old friend Caution^ 
with whom I must own I have not 
latterly been intimate; and I grate- 
fully accepted his attendance. 

When I entered the Bazaar, I 
saw that in sonie respects it was 
different from any of the others 
which I had seen: the shops, in- 
stead of being all of the same size, 
were some large and others very 
small ; but I observed that they 
were filled with ladies, some fan- 
tastically, some neatly, and some 
elegantly dressed ; each of whom 
had a ticket round her neck, on 
which, as my guide informed me, 
her price was inscribed. 

Perceiving a number of purchas- 
ers at a shop near the door, I stop- 
ped to examine the fair ones round 
whom they were so eagerly crowd- 
ing; and I found their charms so 
great, that I was beginning to in- 
quire whether one of the prettiest 
lots would come within the compass 
of my purse; but I made a hasty 

retreat, when Caution ijinchingmy 
arm, whispered me, that the shop 
was kept by Fu//tj. 

My attention was next attracted 
by a grouj) of females, the singu- 
larity of whose dress and appear- 
ance excited the derision of many 
of the spectators ; in fact, the 
greatest part of them seemed at- 
tired for a masquerade: one group 
in jiarticular appeared designed to 
represent the Muses, only they had 
no Apollo; and some of the by- 
standers observed, that a good 
washing in the waters of Helicon, 
if they were really as pure as they 
are reported, would be of infinite 
service to their drapery. Others, 
who were not in fancy dresses, had 
their cans awr^-, their neckluuui- 
kercliiefs half pinned, and every 

I article of their dress spotted wiiii 
ink. I was passing the shop, when 
the mistress of it caught my arm, 

I and observing that I was not like 
those impcrtinents who had sneer- 

I ed at her goods, assured me, that 

' she had collected in her shop the 

[ only lots of any intrinsic value in 
the Bazaar. "Look," continued 

! she, "at the shops of I'u'/i/ and 
Fashion, you see there is noiiiing 

I solid, nothing durable \u the shewy 
trumpery which they exhibit : 

I whereas if you purchase from nie 
and my partner, you lay out your 
money to advantage, for your 
wife's perfections will augment in- 
stead of decaying with age ; every 
year will render the beauties of 
her mind more striking." 

As I perceived her harangue was 
not likely to terminate, I walked 
away at this period of it, and Cau- 
tion, w ho was still at my elbow, told 
me Pedantri/ a.nd Conceit were jaiu 
proprietors of that sh.op. 



I now turned to another, over 
which was written in large charac- 
ters GREAT BAHGAINS, and I ob- 
served attentively several pretty 
faces with which I might have been 
charmedj but there was a stupidity 
in the look of some, an awkward- 
ness in the air of others, and a 
total want of expression in tlie 
countenances of all. "You had 
better pass on," said Caution,'^ there 
is nothing here will suit you; this 
shop is kept by Ignorance.^'' 

A little farther on, I perceived 
a shop even more crowded by pur- 
chasers than that of Follij, though 
the goods, which by the bye were 
ticketed at a still higher rate, were 
much less beautiful: I observed 
that they were decked out in the 
most studied and fantastic manner; 
and upon casting my eyes upon 
the mistress of the shop, I knew 
at first glance that I beheld Fasliion. 
Regardless of the wliispers of Cau- 
tion, who tried much to draw me 
away, I examined several lots, with- 
out, I must own, being particular- 
ly^ pleased with any of them, though 
1 saw them purchased at a most 
extravagant rate before my face 
I could not help smiling at the ad- 
dress with which Fashion, who was 
incontestibly the best shopkeeper 
in the place, puffed off her goods ; 
and I observed, that each wiio pur- 
chased from her seemed certain 
that his bargain was better than 
his neighbour's. Perceiving me 
looking attentively at a young lady 
whose appearance was rather strik- 
ing, tliough her features were not 
beautiful, "There," cried Fashion, 
addressing me, " tliere is a lot 
worth any money 1 Observe what 
a fine air of the head, what taste in 
dress, what skill in attitudes !" — " 1 

cannot appreciate these perfec- 
tions," cried I, " for they are things 
in which I have no judgment;" but 
there is sometlnng very pleasing in 
her countenance, and I shall be 
glad to purchase her, provided you 
will warrant her possessed of those 
qualities necessary to form a good 
wife. I was beginning to enumerate 
thequalitiesi expected, but Fashion 
interrupted me with a contemp- 
tuous sneer. "I perceive, friend," 
cried she, " that you know nothing 
of the usages of polite life, or else 
you would never expect to find 
such obsolete articles in my shop: 
they may suit the poor or the mean- 
spirited, but my customers are of 
avery differentdescription, I assure 
3'ou." At this moment a dashing 
young beau began to inquire about 
the lot in question, and Fashion 
immediately turned to him with a 
ver}- courteous air. My pride was 
so much piqued by the mean opi- 
nion which she seemed to have 
formed of me, that I was just going 
to prove its fallacy by anticipating 
him in the purchase which he seem- 
ed inclined to make, when Caution, 
who saw my danger, caught my 
arm and dragged me forcibly from 
the spot. I began to remonstrate, 
but Caution paid no attention to 
me, nor did he loose his hold till 
we reached a shop at the farther 
end of the Bazaar. I was much 
pleased with the appearance of the 
shopkeeper, an elderl}- matron, at- 
tired in a sober-coloured stuff, made 
in a manner very suitable to her 
years. "You may safely venture 
to purchase at this shop," whisper- 
ed Caution ; " it is kept by Pru- 

I was so charmed with the modest 
propriety both of dress and man- 



Jier of those fair ones in the shop of 
Prudence, that I instantly addressed 
myself to the matron, and expressed 
my wish to purcliase a wife from 
her stock. " I perceive," re[)lied 
she with a smile, " that you are not 
aware of the manner in which I 
carry on m}' business. I take no 
money, my trade being conducted 
solely by way of exchange : let me 
hear the qualities you require in a 
wife, and perhaps we may agree." 
— " Sweetness of temper, a plain 
understanding well cultivated, and 
a good heart," cried I, " are in- 
dispensable ; and I could wish also 
that my wife should possess an 
agreeable, if not a beautiful per- 
son." Prudence paused a moment. 
** I can suit you exactly," cried 
she, " provided you convince me 
that you are possessed of sound 

sense, good principles, and a cheer- 
ful liberal disposition ; satisfy nie 
that you possess these qualities, 
and 1 am ready to make over to you 
the most valuable lot in my shop." 
As she spoke, she took the hand of 
one of the young ladies, wtioseback 
was to me, and turning her round, 
I save, with equal delight and sur- 
prise, that it was my dear Maria 

S . My joy was so great that 

I uttered a loud exclamation, which 
instantly awoke me, and my dream 
being fresh in my memor}-, I com- 
mitted it to paper. Should you 
not deem it unworthy your notice, 
you will, by giving it a place in 
your instructive and elegant pub- 
lication, oblige your constant read- 
er and humble servant, 




-Your ready insertion of my moral tale of The Forsaken Fair, in the 
fourth number of your very elegant Miscellany, has induced me to trouble you 
once more: and should the toUowiiiff trifle, founded on facts, claim an inimeiliate 
insertion, I may peihaps uilrude on you frequently in a similar maimer, continuing 
to make the moral subservient to mere entertainment, and drawing my inciilents 
and deductions from natural life. I remain yours, wiUi respect, John. 



If the importance which we at- were planted in youth by the in- 

' discretion of mothers, and that the 
misery of after-life arises from a 
want of caution, or activity, in 

i watching over the days of child- 

i hood. 

I Lady Lindermere was the most 
agreeable woman imac;inable in a 

tach to the female character is to 
be created and fostered by parental 
care, what have we not to fear, 
when we see that character con- 
demned to the superintendence of 
a parent, who is not only careless 
in performing the great duties she 
is called on to perform, but per- 
sisting in plans built upon false 

party; she shed universal joy over 
the drawing-room whenever she 

theories, which must ultimately ruin !j appeared, for her manners were 
the object wliuse welfare she erro- || elegant and prepossessing. Her 
neously imagines herself to be |i strongest passion was a desire to 
promoting ? Too frequently we 1 jilease all the world : thus she sub- 
find, that the errors of maturity ' stituted politeness for goodness of 
Fol. //. No. Fill. ii M 



heart; but the veil that covered 
her true motives was of so impene- 
trable a texture, that not only the 
young and inconsiderate were 
made to believe that she took a 
lively interest in all tiieir pleasures 
and pains, but niaturer age often 
sought, in treating her with confi- 
dence, a participation in troubles, 
if not exertions to relieve them. 
Yetallthis ladylikedemeanour, this 
smile of complaisance, and the tear 
of benevolence which seemed so 
highly to adorn her, not always 
accompanied her ladyship in pri- 
vacy: there were moments when 
oflFended consequence struggled 
for mastery ; there were moments 
when that character of benevolence, 
which she had striven for years to 
maintain, was almost unveiled; 
when some imaginary injury, and 
a wish to be revenged for some 
supposed affront, had nearly, and 
not unfrequently, betrayed a heart 
cold as marble, except to its own 
interest, and threatened to give 
the lie to those professions which 
her tongue was so constantly re- 
peating. These, however, were 
generally dissipated through the 
medium of taunts and reflections 
on her woman, who was paid to 
bear them in silence; and as no 
man is a hero to his valet, so, if 
Mrs. Torpor, her ladyship's maid, 
might be believed, Lady Linder- 
luere in her dressing-room, and 
Lady Lindermere in the drawing- 
room, were two very different per- 
sons; but nobody saw her ladyship 
under the hands of her 'tire-wo- 
man, and we all believe that alone 
which is most evident to our senses. 
Her dignity had. as yet, inter- 
fered to save her from comuiitting 
actions unworthy of a lady, except 

in little affairs beneath the notice 
of the historian; and she actually 
revelled iu the good graces of those 
to whom blandishment and scandal 
are dearer than truth, when, at 
length, she beheld two daughters 
in full maturity, bred nearly under 
her eye, who had now for some 
time been introduced into life. It 
was indeed high time that they, in 
her opinion, should have been so- 
licited to confine themselves in the 
silken, or rather in the no bands of 
fashionable wedlock, by some bril- 
liant suitors, likely to add to the 
dignity of the house of Lindermere, 
and crown all her ladyship's theo- 
ries by a result favourable to her 
hopes and wi-hes. It is the curse 
of foolish parents to have their 
dearest wishes crossed and their 
fairest schemes overthrown by th.e 
frowardness of their children. The 
celebrated Lord Cliesterfield wrote 
maxims for a son who proved in- 
sensible to their value ; Oliver 
Cromwell (jained a crown for one 
whose only deliglit was to enjoy a 
quiet and innocent life in scenes of 
nature and privacy ; and Lady Lin- 
dermere's system of tactics was 
thrown away on daughters unwor- 
thy of her care. There are some 
mothers that we could mention, in 
the sphere of fashion, who cannot 
bear the existence of a rival even 
in the persons of their own daugh- 
ters: if these unnatural feelings 
ever gained entrance into the breast 
of Lad}' Lindermere, they had 
long since subsided. Neither Do- 
rinda nor Juliana attempted the 
least rivalry, for they rather ap- 
peared in the suite of their mother, 
than came forward as first-rate cha- 

Whether Fortune and the Graces 



chose to exhaust their whole stock 
of favour o!i the mother, or whether 
the daughters wore horn under an 
unlucky planet, is not known, hut 
the Miss Lindernicres had passed 
the a>;e of thirty, apparently as un- 
aiuhiiious of notice as they were 
unattractive, or rather not particu- 
larh/ attractive. 1'he first masters 
were obtained for the culture of 
their minds, and the most fashion- I 
al)le milliners for the adornment 
of their persons. But what did all 
this waste of talent on the Miss 
Lindermcres prove? That mind i 
has not yet arrived at a state of| 
perfection ; that we cannot sfain 
taste by inoculation, or impart 
elc'^ance by theory. They drew, ! 
they played, they waltzed, and i 
sung ; they painted velvet, gabbled 
French, and drawled Italian; but; 
they did all this no better than i 
twenty otlier young ladies; and i 
their mother, no less unfortunate I 
than the celebrated characters just 
quoted, found she had sown seed 
on a barren soil, and if her dauffh- 
ters were accomplished in her j 
eyes, she was never blessed to hear 
the unaffected burst of applause, ■; 
*' How beautifully Miss Dorinda 
paints !" or " How sweet are the 
notes of Juliana's voice!" Praises, j 
of their talents she did indeed hear, ^ 
praises expressed in the highest 
stvle of poetical rapture, but pass- 
ed in so base a coin, ti^it Lady 
Lindermere well discerned the j 
quantity of alloy with which it was J 
mixed; for she had herself passed ! 
oti' much better, stamped with a 
greater appearance of intrinsic ^ 
value. I 

It appears to he the summum bo- 
imm of the year 1816, that every 
lady should be married ; not that 

I your daughter should be happy, but 
that matrimony, the gilded pill of 
matrimony, siiould be swallo\\(:d by 
all parties, whether the fates or 
I destinies will it or not. For this 
are the same faces sent every year 
to Margate, to liarrowgate, to 
\ Cheltenhau), or Brighton ; from 
\ thence to Eastern climes, till In- 
dia's overstocked market can take 
no more victims. Is then the name 
of old-maid so very abhorrent, or 
rather are the character, the feel- 
ings, and destination of an unmar- 
I ried woman so very wretched, that 
our dau<>;hters must rush into the 
arms of monied licentiousness, or 
chuse a protector in avarice and 
age? Lady Lindermere thouglit 
a state of singleness not that of 
blessedness : although, like many 
others, her state of wedlock was 
not passed on a bed of roses, yet 
the whole artillery of her blandish- 
ments was employed for her daugh- 
ters' settlement in lii'e; for this she 
attempted every young man of 
fashion whom she sat down to be- 
siege, and although she was fre- 
quently obliged to raise it, yet, on 
the appearance of another object, 
again wouUi she return to the 
cliaroe, nor leave the fieid till all 
hopes of a blockade were exhaust- 
ed. Do such mothers as Lady Lin- 
dermere imagine, that young men 
are quite blind; and do they not 
know, that human nature, impa- 
tient of controul, rejects even be- 
nefits thrust upon it ? No, with all 
their worldly knowledge, they are 
not aware of the effect of this con- 
duct in themselves, or they would 
not pursue a course which frus- 
trates the very ends they propose 
to accomplish. 

(To be concluded in our next.) 
M -2 



Sophia Egerton was the only i 
child of a wealthy merchant, whose 
disposition was extremely parsi- 
monious. He did every thing in 
his power, hut without effect, to 
repress the generous spirit of his 
daughter, who even from her child- 
ish days gave proof that she pos- 
sessed a most benevolent heart. 
Sophia, who loved and respected 
her father, regulated her own per- 
sonal expenses with the strictest 
econom}', in order to please him ; 
but the greatest part of the little 
allowance which he made her, she 
devoted to the relief of the poor. 

One morning, when Sophia was 
about the age of fourteen, as she 
was walkins: with her maid in Ca- 
vendish-square, she saw a boy, ap- 
parently something younger than 
herself, leaning against the outside 
of the railing, and weeping bitter- 
ly. " What ails you ?" asked she 
in a compassionate tone. — " No- | 
thing, ma'am," answered the boy 
in a strong Hibernian accent, 
" only I can't get a place; and 1 
have eaten nothing since yester- 
day." Sophia gave him a trifle, 
and on questioning him, found that 
he was an orphan : his father, who 
was an Irish peasant, had come to 
London in hopes of gaining a. bet- 
ter livelihood by his labour than 
he could at home, and on his death, 
which had happened only a few 
weeks before, the people where he 
lodged had kept the boy, in hopes 
of getting hiu) a place as errand- 
hoy to a shopkeeper, but not suc- 
ceeding, they became tired of sup- 
porting him, and finally turned 
him out of doors. This artless tale 

made its way at once to the heart 
of Sophia. " There can be no dif- 
ficulty in getting you an errand- 
boy's place, I think," cried she; 
" have you inquired for one.'*" — 
" Myself has been after plinti/y 
ma'am," replied Bryan Delaney, 
for so the boy was called, " but 
they all said I was fit for nothing.'* 
— " But you can do something, 
can't you ?" asked Sophia, doubt- 

" Ogh, to be sure I can, plinty 
of things ; I can dig prateesy cut 
turf, and I've a pretty notion of 
tatchiiig a cabin." 

" But can't you do any thing to 
make yourself useful here ? To get 
a place as errand-boy, you must 
know the town." 

" And so I do; I know the town 
very well, but I can't find my way 
through the streets." 

Sophia's hopes began to sink 
very fast. " Can you read and 
write?" cried she. 

" Yes, ma'am, only in reading 
I'm obliged to spell all the big 
words ; but I can write well enough, 
only I can't shape the letters." 

Sophia's maid, who had listened 
attentively to the conversation, 
now whispered her young lady to 
come away, for that the boy was 
either mad or a rogue. Miss Eger- 
ton was of a very different opi- 
nion ; she wished to assist him, but 
she knew not how to go about it ; 
her pocket-money was so trifling, 
that even the whole of it would 
scarcely keep him from starving ; 
and she saw very clearly, that 
some time would probably elapse 
beforehecouldgeta service. Whil^ 



she was thinking in what way slie 
coiiltl assist him, she suddenly re- 
collected that her father had a set 

desire, entrusted him in j)art with 
the management of the husincss; 
hut when, at length, she expressed 

of shirts to make,vvlMch were to be a wish to entrust the young Irish- 
given to a work-woman thenextdav. I man with her fair hand for life, the 
In live minutes she calculated that , good man's pride took the alarm: 
the sum that would be paid for the j he remonstrated very seriously on 
set of shirts, would maintain Bryan \ the ilis;j;race that would accrue to 
for some weeks; and she deter-! the family of IMnggins by her union 
niined to make them herself. She I with a man who had not a shilling, 
did so, and worked as assiduously and whose father had been only a 
at them as if her bread had de- potatoe-digger, while the IMng- 
pended on the money so earned, gins's had always been known for 
Bryan, meantime, was indefatiga- { substantial people. Miss cut short 
ble in seeking a situation ; and at 1 his harangue by an invective on his 
length he found one in the family cruelty; and finding that this did 
of Mr. Muggins, an oilman, who '] not produce the desired elfect, she 
overlooked his tongue and liis i had recourse to a flood of tears, 
blunders, in consideration of his i and a declaration, that if she did 
strength, activity, and willingness not marry him she should certainly 
to make himself useful. i break her heart. The fond father 

Sophia's solicitude for Bryan's i| was not proof against this attack 
interests did not cease with his I upon his feelings; lie embraced 
getting a situation ; she frequently her tenderly, and told her, that ra- 
jnquired after him, and had thesa- | ther than vex her be would consent 
tisfaction to find that he behaved | to whatever she pleased ; and that 
himself so well, that in a few years ' very evening he intimated to De- 
his master took him to serve in the 11 laney the preference with which 
shop ; and when Sophia, at the age P the lady honoured him. 
of nineteen, married, and quitted r Bryan was by no means elated 
England with her husband, Mr. [jat this unexpected news; but he 
Barclaj', who was an officer in the ' was extremely good-natured, and 
army, Bryan, now grown a smart a little pardonable vanity persuad- 
liandsome young man, was still in li ing him, that some terrible conse- 
the service of the oilman. ! quences might result from thelady's 

Mr. Muggins, who was a widow- , being crossed in her first love, he 
er, had an only daughter, nearly i lost no time in paying his address- 
ten years older than our hero, of a | es, and Miss Muggins speedily be- 
plain person, and a temper which I' came Mrs. Delaney 

rendered her the torment of every 
one around her, with the exception 
of Bryan, on whom, from his first 
introduction to the fannlv, she had 

Thedeathof Mr. Muiiyins twelve 
years at'tcrwards, gave firyan pos- 
session of a considerable projierty, 
and as if TOriune was determined 

cast an eve of favour. As miss was I not to do thitms bv halves, a lot- 
her papa's oracle, he complied with ! ler}' ticket, which he purchased 
her wish to take Bryan into the '' about the same time, came up a 
shop, and soon afterwards, at her j prize of 20,000/. Mrs. Delauey 



now insisted on iiis giving up bu- 
siness, which he readily agreed to; 
but he soon began, to speak in his 
own language, to find out that he 
was very unfortunate in having 
such good luck. His wife, whose 
temper, as we have before said, was 
none of the sweetest, was not con- 
tent with exciting the envy of all 
her female acquaintance by the 
elegance of her iiouse, her dress, 
and her villa at Hacknej^, she de- 
termined to soar at once completely 
above them all, by getting Bryan 
to purchase a title. Bryan, good- 
natured and yielding as he natural- 
ly was, resolutely resisted this de- 
mand. In vain did she assure him 
such a step was proj)er and neces- 
sary ; he replied, that it might be 
necessary for her to be called my 
lady, and if half, or even three- 
fourths, of what he had would pur- 
chase a title for her, she should 
have it; but nothing in the world 
should prevail upon him to be 
knighted and made a fool of; he 
had too much respect for his rela- 
tions to disturb them in their quiet 
graves, and sure enough they never 
would rest asy if once they knew of 
his doing such a thing. In spite of 
tears, snllenness, scolding, and ca- 
resses, Bryan persisted in this de- 
termination, though Mrs. Delaney 
took cure that his firmness should 
cost him dear: her sudden death, 
however, soon left him at liberty to 
enjoy his fortune in his own way ; 
and as he had no family, and was 
of a humane disposition, his riches 
were a blessincj to many. 

As he was sauntering about one 
morning, heobserved two girls, who 
walked before him, look wishfully 
at some fine strawberries as they 
passed a fruiterer's window. " Ju- 

lia," said one to the other, " don't 
you think mamma would like some 
of those strawberries?" — "Yes, sis- 
ter," answered Julia, " but I am 
sure they are too dear." The other 
sigh.ed, but made no reply, and 
they continued to walk on. They 
were both very young, but their 
melancholy air proved they were 
not unacquainted with misfortune. 
Tlie good-natured Bryan felt in- 
h terested for them, and perhaps this 
I interest was not a little heightened 
I by the uncommon beauty of Julia, 
j of whose features, and even voice, 
; he had a confused recollection. 
I Without having any settled pur- 
pose, he followed the sisters till 
they stopped at the private door of 
an ironmonger's shop, and were 
' admitted. It chanced that he knew 
i the ironmonger, and he walked into 
j the shop to make some inquiries 
' about those interesting girls. The 
landlady told him her husband was 
above stairs, but he would be down 
presently ; and in a few minutes he 
heard a voice, which he knew to be 
the ironmonger's, declare, in a loud 
and threatening tone, that he would 
have his money, or value for it, the 
next morning; and slapping a door 
with a violence that shook the house, 
he stamped down stairs, and en- 
tered the shop with a face crim- 
soned by passion. 

On seeing Delaney, Mr. Grub- 
well seemed a little ashamed of his 
violence, and began to harangue 
upon his misfortunes in having al- 
ways the luck of letting his lodg- 
ings to people who never paid him. 
" Here," continued he, " this wo- 
man, with her two daughters, has 
been nearly six months in my 
house, and I never saw the colour 
of her money ; and, by the miser- 

1 1 U M A N 1 I V 11 1: \N A U D ED . 


able manner in wliitli thi-y live, I 
am sure she is as poor as a rat." 

" More's ilie pity," said his wife, 
*' if she is poor; 1 am sure she does 
not deserve to be so." 

" Don'i tell me of her deserts," 
replied the brutish husband ? " what 
hiive 1 to do with her deserts? will 
thtv pay my rent and taxes, and 
buy provision for my family?" 

"Ah I many's the poor family 
for whom she has bou;^ht provi- 
sion," replied the wife: "I re- 
member her when she was Miss 
Ej^erton, and a better creature " 

" What's that you say?" inter- 
rupted Bryan ; " sure and it can 
never be my Miss E^erton, Miss 
Sophy, the pride of the world, that 
you are talking about?" 

*' 1 am talking of Miss Egerton, 
whose father was a merchant, and 
lived in Edward-street ; anil if you 
do know her, you must know she 
deserves nothing but kindness from 
every body." 

" And for that reason," inter- 
rupted the surly husband, " she is 
to cheat me out of my money." 

Bryan's full heart was beginning 
to overflow at his eyes, but this 
speech changed the current of his 
feelings. " Ell tell you what, Mr. 
Grubwell," cried he, " there's one 
thing due to you from me, and if 
you say another word like the last, 
I wont chate you out of it, and that's 
a good baiting" 

*' Beating !" cried the astonished 
and enraged Grubwell, " do you 
come to my shop to assault me, be- 
cause I ask for my own ? It's a 
pretty thing if a man's to be abused 
in this here manner, in his own 
house, by a foreigner, as a body 
may say !" 

" Eoreigner, indeed!" said Bry- 

an. " Harkce, Mr. Grubwell ! Ed 
have you take care what you say, 
or may be Ell be after jirosecuting 
you for a libel upon uiy character 
in calling me a foreigner, when 
Em as much of an Englishman as 
yourself, or else what was the use 
of the union? But it's a burninjr 
shame for me to stand here wasting 
my time in talking to such a spal- 
peen as yourself, rvA/;/ I ought to be 
j)aying my duty to my benefactress, 
who will soon discharge your dirty 
bit of a bill out of 10,000/. which 
she has in my hands." 

These words reni'ered Mr. Grub- 
well as al)ject as he had before been 
insolent; but Bryan, without no- 
ticing his servile apologies, sent to 
beg a few minutes conversation 
with Mrs. Barclay. 

We shall not attempt to paint 
the interview between the grateful 
Bryan and his benefactress ; suffice 
it to say, tliat the warm-hearted 
Iri>hman wished to j)av his debt of 
gratitude a thousand fold ; and So- 
phia, who had no false pride, con- 
sented to accept pecuniary assist- 
ance from him, though not to the 
amount he wished. Her distress 
arose from a fraudulent claim which 
had been set up to some landed 
property purchased by her father, 
and bequeathed by him to her. 
The extravagance of her husband, 
who had been dead for some time, 
had rendered her unable to procure 
legal redress, and, involved as she 
believed in certain and hopeless 
poverty, she was upon tlie brink of 
despair, when Heaven sent the ob- 
ject of her former charit)' to her 
assistance. As she was assured that 
nothing but want of money had 
prevented the recovery of lier pro- 
perty, she commenced her suit with 



vigour. She gained it ; and great 
as was the transport she felt on se- 
curing to her children an ample 
provision, it scarcely equalled that 

of Bryan, when Sophia, presenting 
to him her two charming girls, bade 
them thank the worthy man to whose 
gratitude they owed every thing. 



Bi/ Augustus von Kotzebue. 

When I was at B * * *, I took a I person and thesweetestdisposition, 
walk one morning in the park, j! than to Fortune, who had been 
accompanied by a friend. We j more sparing of her favours. Long 
chanced to pass a summer-house, did his heart waver between Emily 

in which were seated two young 
and beautiful females, the one in 
deep mourning, with her handker- 
chief to her eyes, the other in morn- 
ing negligee, drawing figures upon 
the sand with the point of her pa- 
rasol. Neither of them observed 
us. " Do you know those ladies?" 
said I to my friend. — " O, yes!" 
he replied; " she in mourning is 

the widow of Captain B , and 

the other is the Countess of S . 

They have been iriends from their 
childhood, but affliction has now 
united them more closely than 
ever." My curiosity was excited ; 
we sat down upon a bencii, and he 
related what follows: — • 

pmily and Laura were educated 
together. They were of the same 
rank and age, and both equally 
amiable. The only difference be- 
tween them consisted in Emily's 
wealth and Laura's poverty. Both, 
however, were rich in qualities of 
the mind and heart, and in due 
time both attracted admirers. 

Among other young men who 
were introduced to their notice, was 
Captain B . He was more in- 
debted to the kindness of Nature, 
who had given him a handsome 

and Laura, but at length fixed upon 
the former. Possibly he might not 
himself have been able to account 
for this choice; but those who were 
acquainted with him, well knew 
that self-interest was not the mo- 

This feeling, however, operated 
the more strongly on Emily's fa- 
ther; for though his daughter was 
really attached to the captain, yet 
she was so incessantly lectured on 
the subject of filial obedience and 
submission to the will of parents, 
that the gentle creature at length 
yielded, and promised to stifle the 
growing passion. To second this 
resolution as much as possible, her 
father sent her to a distant country 
seat, where she languished a whole 
year in solitary seclusion. Her 
flowers, her pigeons, and her cor- 
respondence with Laura, were her 
sole amusements. Her father al- 
lowed her to read no novels, and he 
acted wisely, as she would other- 
wise have scarcely succeeded so 
well in banishing the captain from 
her thoughts. In her own letters, 
as well as in those of her friend, his 
name was likewise interdicted, as 
they passed through her father's 


.D. 87 

hands ; and as tliey came from a 
country infected with the pesti- 
ience of love, he never failed to 
open them iirst, in order to pre- 
serve Laura from the contagion. 

Though Emily had quitted the 
town, still the number of her ad- 
mirers did not decline, for her for- 
tune was left behind. She resem- 
bled the invisible deity of the 
Athenians, on whose altars the 
votaries offered sacrilice without 
knowing how he looked. Many, 
indeed, wished for an opportunity 
of becoming personally acquaint- 
ed with her; and those who knew 
her were anxious to see her again : 
but a consideral)le time elapsed 
before her father would consent to 
gratify these desires. 

At length young S made 

liis appearance. He was a rich 
count, who hail seen the great Piti 
— I mean the diamond known by 
that name — had dined with Ver- 
gennes, and been blown up with 
one of the floatin": batteries at 
Gibraltar; in other respects a to- 
lerably good sort of a man, who 
was fond of his poodle, and settled 
an annuity on his superannuated 
tutor. He occasionally read books, 
and always took the tone from the 
last he had perused. This young 
man presented himself as a suitor 
to Emily, or rather to Emily's fa- 
ther, who could not resist his 
charms, and appointed a rendez- 
vous in the country. The fair 
Emily was just feeding her pigeons 
when a fine carriage drove up to 
the door; a fine gentleman ste|)ped 
out of it, and said many line things 
to her. Her father, at the same 
time, gave her to understand, that 
this was the knight who was come 

t'ol. If. ^o. I 111. 

to deliver the captive princess fri;m 
the enchanted castle. Now let a 
young lady be ever so fond of 
her pigeons, it is ten to one that 
she is much fonder of liberty. It 
is therefore no wonder, especially 
as the count was agreeable enough, 
and as Emily was anxious to be 
delivered from her dungeon, that 
in afew weeksshesignified her com- 
])liance with her father's wishes. 
After the honey-moon, the young 
count found a residence in the 
country rather dnll; the countess 
agreed with him ; the steeds were 
harnessed, and away they drove to 

Laura was sincerely rejoiced v> 
see her friend again, and Captain 

B the very reverse; for no 

sooner had he succeeded in ba- 
nishing Emily's image from 
heart, than her sudden reaj)pfcar- 
ance tiireatened to replace it there 
in glowing Cwiours. He met En)ily 
in company, bowed respectfully, 
and turned pale: Emiiy courtesied 
low, and blushed. Tlie captain 
stanniiered forth a congratulation 
uhich nobody understood, and 
Emily an answer which nobody 
heard. "What is to be done?" 
thought the captain, on his return 
home at night; " shall I torment 
myself to no purpose? or shall I 
strive to seduce the count's young 
wife? Neither the one nor the 
other. I will look out for some 
other female, who shall make the 
world, if not a paradise, at least to- 
lerable to me. The sweet Iruits of 
Hymen are not brought to maturi- 
ty only in the hot-house of love, 
they oTow also in the shade of rea- 
son. Nor have 1 far to look ; hap- 
piness is generally nearer to \\i 



than we imagine. Laura is an ami- 
able creature, domestic and unaf- 
fected. I will marry Laura." 

With this resolution he closed 
his eyes, atid with this resolution 
he awoke. " I love you dearly," 
said he the next evening to Laura, 
" can you love me r" Laura had 
long loved him, though she had 
concealed her passion : she had 
now no longer any cause to dis- 
semble, and in less than a month 
they were man and wife. They 
were happy too, though no maid- 
ens dressed in white strewed flow- 
ers at their wedding ; and as the 
dispositions of both were naturally 
amiable, happy they continued to 
be till the demon of jealousy in- 
terfered to disturb their happiness. 

It was perfectly natural that 
the captain should not be able to 
view Emily with total indifference ; 
and it was equally natural that 
Emily should still feel some inter- 
est for the captain. He saw in her 
a charming woman, who, but for 
her father's prohibition, would 
have been his wife: she beheld in 
him an amiable man, whose first 
love she had been, and — as her 
vanity whispered — perhaps still 
was. Neither ever indulged in the 
most distant hint at their former 
situation, but he spoke with more 
shiness to her than to any other 
woman ; and she answered him 
with greater embarrassment than 
any other man. 

Their behaviour did not escape 
the notice of the young count, in 
whom it excited considerable un- 
easiness. As he had just been 
reading a novel, in which a sensi- 
ble husband had by a generous 
confidence prevented his wife from 
tiishoiiouring herself, he deter- 

mined to conceal his disquietude, 
and even pretended to be pleased 
when Emily paid frequent visits to 
Laura. " Why don't you go to 
see Laura ?" he would sometimes 
say. " 'Tis a long time since you 
visited her. It is my wish that you 
should not neglect your friend." 
This was the first white lie (as it is 
commonly called) that paved the 
way to the subsequent catastrophe. 

The strange behaviour of her 
husband and her friend had equal- 
ly forced itself upon Laura's no- 
tice, and had given her no less un- 
easiness. She was ashamed, how- 
ever, to confess it to either. The 
captain, indeed, once asked, in a 
moment of confidence, "Are you 
inclined to be jealous ?" and she re- 
plied with a laugh, *'0, no!" — This 
was the second untruth on which the 
demon of mischief built his plan. 

The winter passed pretty qui- 
etly. The fire glowed under the 
ashes. One day in the following 
spring, the young count was in- 
vited to a party of pleasure in the 
country. The person who gave the 
invitation was a bachelor, an inve- 
terate enemy to the sex even in 
spring, and whose convivial parties 
therefore consisted entirely of men. 
The count was not to return till 
the next morning. Emily was left 
at home a prey to emiui. In this 
situation she received a message 
from Laura, who sent her word that 
her husband would be on duty that 
night, that he would not return 
home till towards morning, and 
therefore she would be glad if 
Emily would spend the evening 
with her. Emily rejoiced in the 
prospect of passing a few hours 
agreeably, and complied. Her 
bookseller had just sent her the 



first two volumes of one of the 
most interesting novels that had 
appeared for many years. These 
she took with her to her friend's, 
and on her arrival there sent home 
her carriasre. The ladies diverted 
themselves in the most innocent 
manner, and after supper Emily 
proposed to read for half an hour 
longer. Half an hour was pro- 
longed to an hour, and one hour to 
two. The book became more fas- 
cinating tlie farther she proceed- 
ed ; Emily forgot to send for her 
carriage; and it was three o'clock 
in the morning when the captain 
returned, and found her still en- 
gaged in reading. 

The ladies were frightened 
when they heard how late it was. 
Emily snatched up her gloves and 
shawl, requested her friend to send 
for a hackney-coach, and hurried 
away. The captain, of course, 
handed her to it ; and what was 
perfectly natural, requested per- 
mission to attend her home, as he 
could not think of suffering her to 
go alone. She declined his offer, 
but he persisted. Emily became 
embarrassed. " If," thought she, 
"I accept his company, I shall be, 
for the length of four or five streets, 
in the most painful situation, alone 
with a man who (loth as I am to 
confess it) is not wholly indifferent 
to me. Should I refuse, he may 
perhaps fancy that I am afraid of 
him." This last consideration re- 
volted her pride, her pride over- 
came her fears, and she consented. 
Laura was thrilled by a most 
unpleasant sensation. Her hus- 
band alone with Emily! the way 
not short ! the morning fine! She 
turned away, and strove to conceal 
the pangs of jealousy under the 

disguise of affected carelessness. 
" Make haste, and begone!" cried 
she yawning, " I can scarcely keep 
my eyes open : and as for you, my 
dear," added she, addressing the 
captain, " don't disturb me when 
you come home, for I shall cer- 
tainly be aslee[j." This was the 
third white lie, for she had never 
felt less disposed to sleep than at 
this moment. She was ashamed of 
her jealousy, and false shame is 
ever accompanied by her sister 

Emily and the captain were pre- 
sently seated in the coach. It had 
long been broad Jciv-light: the 
sun rose in cloudless .>p!e;idour, 
and gilded the tops of the diuich- 
steeples; the cocks crew; the hair- 
dressers began to run about the 
streets, and here and there a shop- 
door opened. Emily was desirous 
of bringing forward some indiffer- 
ent subject for conversation ; she 
therefore said the first tiling that 
came into her head, and this was the 
fourth white lie. " What a charm- 
ing morning!" exclaimed she; "I 
should prefer a ride in the park to 
going home." — " You have only to 
command," replied the captain, un- 
conscious of any improper feeling : 
" coachman, drive to the park !" 

Emily was frightened. She had 
no serious wish to gad about 
the park. Again, should any one 
see lier, at that early hour, alone 
with the captain, what would peo- 
ple think of her ? She fortunately 
devised a method of extricating 
herself from this new embarrass- 
ment. " Hard by," said she, " lives 
my cousin, who is fond of morning 
rides-, we will call for her, and take 
her with us."— "By all means," re- 
plied the captain. The coachman 
N 2 


was ordered to drive to the cousin's, 
and in two minutes they were at 
the door. 

After long knocking and ring- 
ing, a servant at length made his 
appearance, and informed them, 
yawning, that his mistress was not 
yet stirring. " Slie must be roused 
then," said Emily. " Allow me, cap- 
tain, to leave you for a moment. 
I'll go up to her myself." Alighting 
from the coach, away she tripped 
up stairs, burst into her cousin's 
chamber, and hastily drew her cur- 
tains. " Dear cousin," said she, 
" you must come and take a ride 
immediately. I have left Captain 

B below in the coach ; I can't 

get rid of him ; he insists on ac- 
companying me, and I should not 
like to be seen alone with him. 
Make haste! dress yourself, and 
come along with us !" Her poor 
cousin, however, having taken a 
violent cold, peremptorily refused. 
^' Rather stay with me to breakfast," 
said she, " and let the captain re- 
turn home." — " Any thing in the 
world," rejoined Emily, " to escape 
bis troublesome politeness." She 
accordingl}' sent down a message, 
excusing herself from going any- 
farther, on account of her cousin's 
cold, and requested the captain to 
let the coach take him home. 

The captain preferred walking. 
He alighted. " If I go home," 
thought he, " I shall only disturb 
my wife; the idea of a ramble in 
the park this delicious morning is 
too good to be lost, and I will ex- 
ecute it alone." He accordingly 
strolled to tlie park, where he 
sauntered up one alley and down 

Emily staid scarcely half an 

hour at her cousin's. •' By this 
time," thought she, throwing her- 
self into the carriage of the latter, 
" the captain is snug in his bed. 
The morning is truly charming; 
the sun has dried up the dew; I 
feel no inclination to sleep, and 
will take a walk in earnest." In ten 
minutes she actually alighted in 
the park, and in the eleventh she 
met the captain. She was alarmed 
and perplexed beyond measure 
upon discovering him. She could 
not with decency avoid him, as he 
had already perceived her. What 
would he think in that case? Why, 
either that she despised or feared 
him! The first her heart forbade, 
the second her pride. Like a fe- 
1 male familiar with the tone of the 
great world, she mustered all her 
self-command, and went up to him 
laughing. " Women are capricious 
creatures, captain, an't they? One 
moment they will, and the next 
they won't. Ask not, therefore, 
how I happen to be here just now ? 
I can assign no other reason but 
my whim. Fate seems to have de- 
creed that we should spend this 
morning together, so lend me your 

With affected nonchalance, and 
conversing with feigned cheerful- 
ness on the most ordinary topics, 
she walked up and down with him 
for about half an hour. The sky 
then began to be overcast, and 
Emily gladly seized this pretext 
for relieving herself from the op- 
pressive constraint of her situation. 
" Kemember me to your wife," said 
slie, sprung into the carriage, and 
hastened home. 4 

(To be concluded in our next.) 




yliid ijxpcriincitt made wil/i it bi/ Dr. IIami:l, uf .Si. Pclersburrr. 

Thehk are Few of our readers, 
we |.n"esuiue, whose feelings have 
not been shocked by the accounts 
of the destructive effects occasion- 
ed hy llu'ex[)losi()i) of iiitlauMiiablc 
air in (•oai-niiM..'S, by which, m ilie 
northt rn part of the kingdom aK)nc, 
several hundreds of valuable lives 
have been sacrificed within these 
fevv^ears. It was natural that men 
of science should direct their stu- 
dies to the nunins of preventing 
such accidents: several ingenious 
inventions were olVtred to tlie at- 
tention of miners ; l)ut none of those 
hitherto produced has been found 
to combine the grand requisites, 
safety and convenience, in an equal 
degree with the lamp invented by 
Sir Humphry Davy. 

In the course of a long and la- 
borious investigation of the pro- 
perties of the fire- damp, and the na- 
ture and communication of fian)e, 
Sir Humphry ascertained, that the 
explosions of inflammable gases 
were incapable of being passed 
through long narrow metallic tubes; 
and that this principle of security 
was still obtained by diminishing 

The apertures in the gauze 
should not be more than ^'^ of a 
square inch. As the fire-damp it 
not inHanud by ignited wire, the 
thickness of the wire is not of im- 
|)ortance, but wire from ^ to ^ of 
an inch in diameter is most con- 
venient. If wire of ^V is found to 
wear out too boon in practice, the 
thickness may be increased to any 
extent; but the thicker the wire, 
the more the light will be inter- 
cepted, for the size of the aper- 
tures must nc^er be more than ^'^ 
of an inch square. 

Iron wire and brass wire-ganze 
of the required degree of fineness 
are made for sieves by all wire- 
workers; but iron wire-gauze is to 
be preferred. When of the pro- 
per degree of thickness, it can 
neither melt nor burn ; and the coat 
of black rust, which soon forms 
upon it superficially, defends the 
interior from the action of the air. 
The gauze cage, or cylinder, for 
inclosing the flame of the lamp, 
should bo made by double join- 
ings, the gauze being folded over 
in such a manner as to leave no 
their length and diameter at the jj apertures. A\'hen it is cylindrical, 
same time, and likewise diminish- li it should not be more than two 

ing their length and increasing 
their number, so that a great num- ' 
ber of small apertures would not j 
pass explosion, when their depth 
was equal to their diameter. This [ 
first led him to trials upon sieves , 
made of wire-gauze, or metallic 
plates perforated with numerous j 
^mall holes, and h.e found that it ! 
>vas impossible to pass explosions 
t^irpugh theui. 

inches in diameter; for in larger 
cylinders, the combustion of fire- 
damp renders the top inconvenient- 
ly hot, and a double top is alwavs a 
proper precaution, fixed at the dis- 
tance of one-half or three-quarters 
of an imh above the first top. The 
gauze cylinder slwuld be fastened 
to the lamp by a screw of four or 
five turns, and fitted to the screw 
by a tight ring. All joinings in 



the lamp should he made of hard 
solder; and the security depends 
on the circumstance, that no aper- 
ture couuuunicating with the ex- 
ternal air exists in the apparatus 
larger than in the wire-gauze. 

Such of our readers as are desi- 
rous of ohtaining a more accurate 
notion of the structure of this in- 
genious contrivance, are referred 
to Mr. Newman,, of Lisle-street, 
London, by whom lamps of this 
kind are made. It is obvious, that 
their principle is of much more ex- 
tensive application than the pur- 
pose for which these instruments 
were originally designed. The 
safe-lamps will prevent accidents 
in gas-manufactories, spirit-manu- 
factories, and warehouses, and in 
all places where gaseous inflamma- 
ble matter is likely to be disengag- 
ed ; and for the common purposes 
of light, they will always prevent 
danger from sparks as well as 

To this description we subjoin 
an account of an experiment made 
with one of these lamps in a coal- 
pit, by Dr. Hamel, of St. Peters- 
burg: — Some time ago, says he, I 
had an opportunity of trying Sir 
Humphry Davy's lamp in a coal- j 
mine near Holywell, in Flintshire, j 
I descended (along with Messrs. ! 
William and Edward Roscoe) the 
pit of Deehank colliery, 140 yards 
deep, and then proceeded horizon- 
tally in one of the metal drifts, 
where in one place the inflamma- 
ble gas was bubbling with consi- 
derable force through the water 
covering the bottom of the mine. 
The ventilation here beinjr so com- 
plete as to prevent any danger 
from explosion, I kindled the gas 
with a common candle. It conti- 

nued burning with a fiame about a 
foot and half long. Sir Humphry 
Davy's lamp, held in the same cur- 
rent, would not set fire to it. We 
now went to a place near the end 
of the working, where, in the roof 
of the mine, there is a considerable 
excavation constantly filled with 
carburetted hydrogen, issuing from 
a fissure in the roof on that spot. 
Holding the safety-lamp in the 
lower part of this excavation, where 
the inflammable air is always mix- 
ed with atmospheric air, a succes- 
sion of slight explosions took place 
in the inside of the lamp ; but when 
raised into purer inflammable gas, 
the whole of the cylinder was filled 
with a faint bluish flame, through 
which that of the wick was distinct- 
ly visible. On lifting it still higher 
into the purest carburetted hydro- 
gen, the lamp was put out, but re- 
kindled spontaneously when in- 
stantly withdrawn into atmosphe- 
ric air. 

Having convinced myself that 
the lamp would not set fire to the 
gas (and having been breathing the 
same for some time, to try its ef- 
fects when taken into the lungs), 
we approached it with a common 
candle tied to a long stick. The 
gas took fire with considerable ex- 
plosion, the lowermost stratum be- 
ing mixed with atmospheric air, 
and the remainder continued burn- 
ing for nearly half a minute, filling 
three-quarters of the mine with an 
undulating blaze. The appearance 
was awfnl, and gave me some no- 
tion of the manner in which those 
unfortunate persons perished who 
met with their death from accidents 
of this kind. 

The lamp with which we made 
the experiment, had a cylinder of 



brass wire-gauze. It had become 
very hot during our trials with it; 
and, I think, the flame was greener 
than is common to carburetted hy- 
drogen from coal-mines. I shouUl 
suppose brass or copper wire would 
not stand so long as iron wire- 
gauze. Mr. Buddie writes me, 
*' that he has had several lamps 
with //o/i-gauze cylinders for three 
months in daily use, without being 
in the slightest degree impaired, 
although they have been frequent- 
ly red-hot for a considerable length 
of time." The chief doubts remain- 
ing in my mind with regard to the 
complete safety of the lamp, were, 
that the particles of coal, which 
generally fly about where the men 
are working, might stick in the 
meshes of the gauze, and by giv- 

ing out a flame, might kindle the 
gas. I had an idea, that by putting 
over the gauze cylinder a second 
one of glass or gauze, this danger 
might be avoided ; but on mention- 
ing my doubts to Sir Humphr^^ 
Davy, lie shewed me some experi- 
ments in the laboratory of the 
Royal Institution, by which it ap- 
peared, that coal-dust, even when 
laid on the top of the lamp and 
becoming red-hot, or when blown 
through the gauze cylinder, would 
not inflame the surrounding gas. 
Sir Humphry Davy's discovery of 
theproperty of wire-gauze is great; 
it has rendered philosophy tri- 
umphant over an evil, that had long 
baffled the united efforts of the 
man of science and the philanthro- 


No. VIII. 

S«'e liow the world its veterans rewards'. 

A yoiitli <)t t'lolif, an old ;ige of cards; 

Fair to liO purpose, faillit'iil to no end, 

Yomis without lovtrs, old without a friend; 

A fop llieir passion, but their prize a sot ; 

Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot.— ^PoPE, epist. ii. 

I SOME time since received the 
following question in the following 



" What is an accomplished 
woman, according to the general 
acceptation annexed to the ex- 
pression r" 

I could wish that you would not 
only answer me on this point, but 
enlarge a little upon the subject 
in the way that your experience, 
knowledge of the world, and in- 
sight into the female character, so 
eminently qualify you to do. If, 
however, in the course of your next 

two or three numbers you do nofe 
comply with my request, I will 
trouble you with a few of my own 
opinions on this interesting topic. 
I was myself a darling daughter, 
and educated with all the care, as 
well as gratified with all the indul- 
gence, which fondness and fortune 
could bestow: I have since been 
I a wife, on whom a husband, I may 
' say themost tender husb:ind, dotcil. 
. I am now a widowed mother, with 
i all the fearful hopes and anxious 
' cares which two female children, 
! and I have no other, can excite in 
a maternal bosons. One of th.em 
has advanced a few paces in her 



teens, and the other has just en- 
tered into them. The duties I owe 
to these beings, and the diflicukies 
vvhicli the world throws in my way 
while I am endeavouring to dis- 
charge them, are the subject of my 
constant thoughts and my daily 
exertions. I would rather receive 
instructions from you ; but if you 
chuse to withhold them, I sludl 
crave your attention to, and your 
opinion of, the principles on which 
I instruct myself. In short, to my 
own answer to my own question, 
with which, under the circunj- 
stances I have mentioned, I shall, 
in the time which I have specified, 
intrude upon you. Your obliged, 
humble servant, 


My readers will not expect, 1 
presume, that I should by any ob- 
servations deprive myself of the ad- 
vantage which these papers would 
probably receive from such a cor- 
respondent: I therefore waited till 
sl)e was disposed to perform her 
promise; and the manner in which 
she has thought proper to fulfil it 
has fully justified my expectation, 
and will not, I presume, disappoint 
any other. 


Since, madam, you have refused 
to answer my question, I proceed, 
without apology, to make my own 
responses to it. The fact is, tliat 
the question which I put to you 
was, in the very words of it, a ques- 
tion which my eldest girl address- 
ee! to me; and the answer which I 
gave to her is, as to the substance, 
if not precisely as to the expres- 
sion, the same v/hich I gave to her : 
perhaps you will hereafter do her 
the service to enlarge upon it for 
my great satisfaction, as well as her 

further instruction and improve- 

" iVJy dear Eliza, 

" To dress, to dance, to 
sing, to play, and to be engaged in 
a round of what are called fashion- 
able |)ursuits, is the principal ob- 
ject of too large a portion of the 
young women who possess tiie dis- 
tinction of rank and fortune. I 
appreciate, as they deserve, those 
ornamental acquisitions, which are 
the deligiit of society, and enliven 
the pleasures of retirement. A 
genius for music or drawing should 
be cultivated, but as the amuse- 
meuts, and not the business, of life; 
because it should be considered, 
that all the pleasure which harmo- 
ny can afford to the ear, or paint- 
ing to the eye, will add but little to 
the furtherance of domestic duty, 
or the fulfilling the moreimportant 
concerns of life. If time, instead 
of being occasionally enlivened by 
such pursuits, is wholly dedicated 
to them, how is it possible that you 
can fix those principles which are 
to regulate your conduct? or how 
will you acquire those more solid 
qualities, which are to be the real 
and durable ornaments of social 

" A disposition at once mild, 
patient, gentle, and unassuming, I 
consider as the ^rst accomp/is/imeut, 
because it is the most necessary 
for jour own peace, and the com- 
fort of those with whom your lot is 
cast; nor is a well regulated tem- 
per, that charm of the human, and 
more particularly of the female 
character, so easily obtained, or so 
easily preserved, as too many are 
apt to imagine : for the softness 
which is given by nature will, if it 
is not strengthened by thought and 



reflection, too often degenerate 
into insipidity. On the other hand, 
to avoid tlie pertness of manner 
which frequently assumes the name 
of vivacity, the same application 
must be made to the higlier powers 
of the mind ; they must he called to 
expand beyond the glittering tri- 
fles of the day, and check the in- 
fluence of self-love, which is so 
apt to prevent you from contem- 
plating the excellencies of others, 
and, which is the happiest conse- 
quence of such a review, of endea- 
vouring to imitate them. On the 
point of accompHshnieiits, therefore, 
it should be considered, that to 
dazzle by exterior qualifications is 
far less desirable tlian to delight by 
solid virtues; and that elegant at- 
tainments are only valuable when 
they are the ornaments of an ac- 
complished, that is, of a well in- 
structed, mind. 

" With respect to books, 1 can- 
not but wish that your reading 
should be more extensive than is 
in general thought suitable to wo- 
men. It should be on those sub- 
jects which appeal to the h.cad as 
well as the heart; sucIj as give ele- 
vation of sentiment, without learl- 
ing to abstruse and learned disqui- 
sition. Natural and civil history 
will never fail in proving to reflect- 
ing minds the subjects of agree- 
able and useful study. She must 
surely be lost to a just sense of 
what is beautiful, who has no de- 
sire for that knowledge which un- 
folds the charms of nature in all 
its varieties, and, at the same time, 
displays the wonders of creation. 
A general notion of what has pass- 
ed, and may be passing, in the 
world, which history affords, is a 
necessary branch of knowledge : 

f'oi. II. No. nil. 

when confinedin rcasonablebounds, 
and to general topics, it is an uc- 
c(mi})/is-/tmeiit which at once adorns, 
improves, and enlarges the mind. 
Poetry is too certain a source of 
deliglit to be forgotten ; but the 
Muses are ladies whose familiarity 
is to be sought with a selecting care, 
and under the auspices of taste 
and virtue. 

" To consider an attention to 
economy and domestic concerns as 
an accomplishment, might call forth 
a sneer from those wlio bask in the 
meridian of fashionable life; but 
a liberal and gradual introduction 
to such objects are essential lo the 
future comfort of those who are 
to become wives, and motiiers, and 

" A truly aiVeniunate liusband, 
however he may be delighted with 
the decorations of taste and ele- 
gance as they adorn the person, 
or tlie more sl\owy acquisitions of 
the mind, will have reason to be 
disappointed, if the wife uhorn he 
has chosen, refuses to accommo- 
date herself to those domestic con- 
cerns which are submitted to her 
superintending care. But nothing 
is more evident, tlian that the use- 
ful and elegant qualities of the fe- 
male character are naturally cal- 
culated to harmonize with, to sup- 
port and set o{f each other. Ac- 
compiishmcnrs give a certain glow 
and pleasing colour to the most 
simple acts of douiestic duty; while 
a proper and I'ccnniing attention 
to the latter, operating in some 
degree on the former, gives them 
a sort of solid character, which in 
themselves tl.oy cannot be said to 
nossess. \\'liat is called taste, a 
loveof elegance and a disposition to 
refinement, will too often serve but 



to lead into extravagance and dissi- 
patioii, unless corrected by that 
love of" home, which must spring 
from the knowledge of its comforts 
and the discharge of its cares. 

"An introduction into public life 
is generally deemed necessary to 
form the manners; and it certainly 
ivill teach an artificial polish, a ha- 
bit of fashionable ceremony, which 
niay fit you for the transitory hours 
of dissipation; but the politeness 
which never varies, and the man- 
ners which are uniformly pleasing, 
are only to be learned from prin- 
ciples rightly formed, and a heart 
open to the impressions of social af- 
fection. The good-breeding which 
is inspired by good temper, is not 
dependant on any particular socie- 
ty; and she who is so fortunate as 
to possess it, will be as delicate in 
her attentions in the circle of pri- 
vate friendship, as if the whole 
world were witness of her actions. 

"With respect to dress, that te- 
dious study, which engrosses so 
large a portion of female attention, 
let it be remembered, that fine 
clothes add nothing to real beauty ; 
while they render the defects of a 
plain person more conspicuous. 
Besides, an observance of every 
fantastical fashion will lead to va- 
nity and extravagance, which must 
be gratified at the expence of ge- 
nerosity and benevolence. The 
appearance which other people 
make is not to be entirely the stand- 
ard of your own : if they chuse to 
be extravagant, and dress in a man- 
ner that is not suitable to their sta- 
tion in life, there is no reason that 
you should follow their example. 

" In considering manners, or that 
exterior behaviour v.'hich is neces- 
sary in general society, what is 

more offensive in the eye of reason, 
than levity, pertness, and assurance? 
while dignity, grace, and mildness 
are the most attractive charms of 

"It cannot, I fear, be denied, 
that there is a freedom of manners 
prevalent, in our day, in female 
society, which would have been 
considered in the days of our grand- 
mothers, as little sliort of a disdain 
of genuine modesty, nearly, if not 
altogether, approaching to a viola- 
tion of character. Is it to be won- 
dered, therefore, that when women 
loosen the ties of decorum, men 
should relax in their respect to 
them ? and ought we to be surpris- 
ed, when they bring into our com- 
pany the manners, conversation, 
and familiarity of their own socie- 
ty, instead of those obliging atten- 
tions, amiable reserve, and chaste 
behaviour, which is best suited to 
ours ? 

"VrMien, however, on our part, 
no indignant frowns testify a dis- 
pleasure of such manners, when 
no modest blush speaks the purity 
of the female mind, men are not 
to be inconsiderately condemned 
for improper conduct. Let me ask, 
is not the fault too much our own? 
and must it not be the reformation 
in our manners which can alone 
restore that true good breeding, 
which is so opposite to the fashion- 
able ease, or rather impudent fa- 
miliarity, for it well deserves the 
name, of the times in which we 
live? Be it, however, your part, 
my dear child, whatever singula- 
rity may be attached to it, to suffer 
your principles to govern your ac- 
tions: do not, I beseech you, let 
the contagion of bad example in- 
fluence even your exterior appegr? 



ance, much less alVect your luari- 
nersand conversation. But, above 
all things, guard the principles of" 
virtue, of honour, and, wiiich in- 
cludes them both, of religion, from 
being contaminated by the bian- 
dislunents of dubious pleasures and 
prevailing dissipation: lor if you 
once sacrifice tliese genuine accom- 
plishmeiits of the mind and of the 
heart, to those of tlie fashionable 
world, what a risk yon will run of 
losing all claim to real happiness, 
of contaniinatingall purity of mind, 
and passing your life m a degra- 
dation of character, or amidst the 
mortifications of repentance!" 

Have I fiiliilled n)v i^romisc to 
your satisfaction? I trusi, nay I 

am confident, that you will not 
flatter me. 


Be assured that I flatter you 
not, when I reply, that you liave 
inlfilled your promised task very 
much to the honour of your u[i- 
derstanding and your heart. Nor 
do I entertain tlie least apprehen- 
sion, that the delusions of the world 
will contaminate those who are 
brought up under suchcareasyours, 
and who have continually before 
their eyes suc;h an example, as I 
uuist presnn)e, yon offer to tlicir 
uuily contemplation. 

The Female Tattlek. 




Sir, The inclosed letter, which has been piiviitcly circulated, contains so 

many interesting' pariiculais relative to that sanguinary conllict, which decided the 
fin;d downt'al of the enemv of God and man, and lellecls so much credit on the 
writer as a soldier and a Christian, that 1 have no iloubt of its proving acceptable to 

the readers of your elegant Miscellany. 

Camp, Bois dii Tjo!o«:nc, Paris, 
Oyil) July, IS15. 

I am, &c. 

J. B. 

Sir, — My departure from Eng- 
land was very sudden : I had not 
the happiness of seeing you; but 
I received yonr kind note, which, 

the Lord says, "Boast not thyself 
of to-morrow, and put not confi- 
dence in uncertain riches; but trust 
thou in the living God." Yet, 
amidst all the sufl'erings of my 
mind in parting from my friends, 

amidst the suiFerings of my mind, , I felt it my duty to go in search 
in parting from a beloved wife and |[ of that enemy of peace, the Tyrant 
very dear children, helped to re- 'l of the World ; and, if it were re- 

vive me. I can truly say, I never 
so much regretted a separation from 
my wife and family, and God's 
church and people. After havinsj 
been so long absent in Holland, 

quired, to die in the cause; for I 
was fully sensible we were defend- 
ing truth and justice. Our object 
was Europe's peace and happiness; 
and I was confident that God had 

Sicily, Spain, and France, I thouglit ; only permitted the evil to bring 
Europe was weary of war, and that ; about a greater blessing, which I 
I was safe and comfortably situat- ; hopeis nearlyaccomplished, though 
ed with my family at home; but ' it has cost much blood. While we 

O -2 


lay at Ilovis, near Kn^liien, in tlse 
Netherlands, I opened a place for 
our religious duties, where ni-.-nx' 
found it their priviletre to attend. 
It was tolerably well filled. Al- 
thougii, when in close contest with 
tlie enemy, we are obliged to de- 
sist from our public meetings, on 
account of our duties; yet, we 
then, as often as possible, com- 
uuine with each other; and I am 
happy to say, that only one of our 
society was killed (Serjeant Silver, 
third regiment of Guards,) and 
three wounded ; two are doing well ; 
the other 1 have not yet heard of. 
Serjeant-Major Dixon* and Ser- 
jeant Rippon, wounded on the 16th 
June, are both doing well. 

On the Ibth June we marched at 
four o'clock in the morning the dis- 
tance of about twenty-four miles, ! 
and then rushed into action. The 
Lord gave us great strengt'i, both 
of body and mind, on that day, 
and through the whole of our la- 
bours. We arrived Justin time, 
or tlie enemy would have forced 
the Belgians. With one liour and 
a I'.aU's hard fighting, we main- 
tained our position, with some lit- 
tle advantage, but our loss was 

As you have received a more 
perfect account in the public dis- 
patches, I shall only, as briefly as 
possible, insert a few facts which 
have not yet been mentioned. 

On the 18th of June, the day of 
Waterloo, we took up a good po- 
sition, at the same time leavino- the 
enemy one they would accept. 

* Serjeant-Major Dixon, having Ion" 
niaiiuuined an exemplary character, has, 
since ihc battle, receivtc! a commission, 
and is now adjutant in ibc Derbyshire 

We opened on the enemy seven guns 
before they returned an answer; 
then most tremendously the action 
commenced, but God was with us. 
I addressed my company in a few 
words, to " be steady and attentive 
to orders — keep perfect silence — 
and put j'our whole trust in God's 
help, for he is with us; — be strong 
and determined ; — use all your skill 
in levelling; — make sureyour mark, 
— and in the charge, use all your 
strength; — and you shall see by 
the close of this day's sun, your 
enemies fiv, and the shout of victo- 
ry shall be yours." I felt my mind 
stayed upon God; and my confi- 
dence was so firm, that neither the 
timnder of our enemy's cannon and 
musquetry, — nor the boast of his 
guards, — nor the threats of his ca- 
valry (in mail), either alarmed my 
breast or concerned my mind ; God, 
I knew, was my Father, my shield, 
and refuge. I cannot say that 
I attempted to boast myself with 
confidence of escape unhurt, as I 
now experience; but this one thing 
I knew, my peace was made with 
God, having a bright evidence in 
my own soul ; and that while I lived 
I would play my part for the vic- 
tory. It was the Sabbath-day ; and 
while you were praising and pray- 
ing to the King of Glory in his 
church, I was doing the same in 
the field of blood : I was truly in 
the spirit of a Christian and of a 
soldier on the Lord's day. 

The enemy fired round shiOt and 
shell, — gra[5e and canister, — and 
new horse-nails, tied up in bundles, 
nine bundles in a gun ; these I saw 
and iiandled on the 19th. Unlaw- 
fiil carnage: but the portrait of 
the num is blood, murder, and de- 
solation ! My eyes have seen much. 



Sir, I have the happiness to serve 
ill tlie th:i-.l l)aUalioi) of the lirsL 
Guards, wlio in a parLicuUir man- 
ner lUstiiij^uishecl themselves, de- 
termined to shout "Victory!" or 
return no more; and God hlessed 
their endeavours. Our third bat- 
talion and a battalion of rifle of 
the K. G. L. (say 1200 men) ad- 
vaneed 300 paces in front of tlic 
whole line, into a valley which lay 
between the two |)<)sitions, and 
within 100 yards of about tiOOO ca- 
valry and 3000 infantry of the ene- 
my. Tiiey viewed us with asto- 
nishment; and to prove that God 
had filled them \vit!i fear, the}- 
formed square, and neither ehar;^- 
ed nor fired upon us, except from 
the heights of their position; but 
we suffered much from those guns. 
We remained firing at them for 
lialf an hour, and liien retired into 
our post in line. The cavalry (in 
armour) charged us many times in 
the course of the day, but made 
no impression ; we repulsed them 
with "reat slaufjhter. We never 
fired at the cavalry till they came 
within about 30 yards of us. To- 
wards the evening, Bonaparte di- 
rected against us his choice lOolh 
regiment; and in half an hour we 
cut them all to |)ieces, and took 
one stand of colours. He then sent 
against us his Grenadier Imperial 
Guards; they came within 100 yards 
of us and ported arms to charge; 
but we advanced upon tiiem in 
quick time, and opened a brisk file 
fire by two ranks ; they allowed us 
to come within about 30 yards of 
them — they stood till then, looking 
at ns, as if panic-struck, and did 
not fire ; they then,as weapj)roach- 
ed, faced about and fied for their 
lives, in all directions — they did 

I not like the thought of the Briti>h 

' b;ivoneio, for we had just 
ed the charge — they ran very fast, 
but many of them fell, while we 
[xirsued, and with them one stand 

, of colours; and 1 have the honour 
to wear a colonel's sword i)i' the 

I trench Imperial Guard*. 

* Tlie Serjeant, in a Utter to his wife, 
had iiieiitioiied a particular lad ot' his 
waving an ullicer's coat, and cliteiiiig 
the men in a critical nioinenl of the bat- 
tle. A friend who liad seen this Utter 
made some intjuiry respecting tliu cir- 
cumstance; and the serjeant, in a subse- 
qnent Utter, adds tlie to, Icjvviiig particu- 
lars : — 
, "When the I'rench lOJih n;gimtnt 
advancid up the low j^rwund, ihcir can- 
nun at the oame time lakt-it us wiih grape, 
cani-ter, and horse-nails; and our line 
itl tuo (litieienl liiiUc was so shattered 
that I feared ihey cuuid not stand : iit 
fact, 1 was for a moment really afraiil 
they wouUl give way ; and if we had 
yiven way it would have youe haid with 
the whole line, as our thn.l battalion and 
the rifle battalion of the K. G. L. were 
' the manoeuvre of the day. Our otlicers 
1 exerted themselves to the very uitei mast, 
as also the Serjeants. Major- Cent-ral 
Maitland, Colonel Lord Saltoun, Colo- 
ncl l{eevc,anJ Brii^adt-.Majur Gunthorp, 
i were in the front lace of the sq.iare, in 
I the hottest part of the contest. U.u- loss 
at this lime was most tremendous. It 
was at this juncture that I picktfl up En- 
i sitrn Purdo's coat, uluch was cnvcml 
I] with his blood, l^-ingon a horse. The 
jl ensign belonged to our i>ult.diiin ; he was 
|l killed and stripped by the plunderers 
1 during some of our manreuvres. 1 step- 
i' ped about twenty-five paces before the 
line and waved the « oat, cheering the 
men, and telling them, thatwlvde onr 
olfirtMS bled we sliould not reckon our 
lives dear. (I did this a second time w hm 
the Imperials came up aj^ainst us, and I 
believe it had its deiii ed elKcl.) I tho-.i'^ht 



Though not mentioned in the 
dispatch (they all fouglit so well), 
yet it was our third battalion of the 
first Guards, and the riHe battalion 
of the K. G. L., that first com- 
pletely turned the day in our fa- 
vour. When the Imperial Guards, 
the dependence of Bonaparte, ran, 
his defence departed from hins, 
and his whole line, as has been 
stated, became confusion. Much 
to the honour of his grace (as in 
every case throughout the day), he 
seized the moment, and in the space 
of five minutes formed a line in the 
valley for a general charge, and 
then the shout of "Victory! vic- 
tory !" was heard. The very ele- 
ments rang with voices and cannon 
on Britain's side — and what was 
my shout ? In a loud tone of voice, 

if any thing would stimulate the men, 
this would be efiective. An officer hav- 
ing just sacrificed his life for liis coun- 
try's safety, ours were pledged for the 
samu. The men fought with all their 
laigh* ; and in half an hour, as I men- 
tioned, we cut the \05i\\ leginient all to 
pieces, and took one stand of colours. 
Had I known, however, the coat 
would liave been mentioned farther than 
to my wife, I should not have inserted it, 
but let that well known fact have been 
mentioned by others. I do not Hke to 
coaunend myself, as tiiis is empty praise; 
I only mention facts to describe the ma- 
noeuvres, and our thoughts and experi- 
ence, and how the action terminated. I 
had notliiiig in view but the safely and 
honour of my country, and lo conquer or 
die. God knows rny heart; and through 
his merciful supjiort I feared no man; 
no, nor death itself, nor any thinf in 
league with it. I believe this was the 
aniraated spirit of the British line, and 
they did their duty; but no more. This 
our country expects, and is ever worthy 

I I cried out, "Glory be to God! 
he is with us ! I now rejoice. My 
prayers are answered fully, and my 
labours crowned !" 

The fight, at one time, was so 
desperate with our battalion, that 
files upon files were carried out to 
the rear from the carnage, and the 
line was held up by the Serjeants' 
pikes, placed against the rear : not 
for want of courage on the men's 
part (for they were desperate,) only 
for the moment our loss so unstea- 
died the line*. 

I lost of nsy company, killed and 
wounded, three officers, three Ser- 
jeants, and 54 rank and file out of 
97. Several of tiieu), after their 
wounds were dressed, returned to 
liie field, and fought out the battle. 

It will rejoice your heart to hear 
that the Methodists in this action 
have completely refuted the slan- 
ders propagated against them, re- 
specting which Mr. Griffiths wrote 
tome. (I answered his letter, atid 
have no objection that my answer 
should be published.) Our names 
are known and our conduct seen. 
Our surviving officers may be re- 
ferred to; and on inquiry it will be 
found, that we who fear God, love 

* In a subsequent letter the Serjeant 
mentions, that " theserjeaiiis placed their 
pdies against the men's backs in line (for 
they were getting eight or ten deeu), and 
bore them up by their shoulders by main 
strengih. Some of the men kept up firm 
in tlie line, but others fell back to get out 
ammunition, and others were begging am- 
munition in the rear as all their own was 
spent, which, with our continual loss, 
quite unsteadied the line; so the pikes 
were intended to prevent any from fall- 
ing back for ammuniiion, as we wanted 
the men to use the bayonet, for now de- 
pended the honour of Britain, and the 
safety of Europe." 



our king, and luive fouglit liis bat- 
tles witli undaunted courage, and 
(according to our rank) have as 
great a share of the honour of that 
day as any part of the line; and 
C W. is ready to meet and dispute 
with that gentleuuui, to vindicate 
the character of the religions sol- 
dier, on his return from the field 
of blood to the land of peace. 

! how happy was my soul (even 
in the sea of blood) in Britain's 
cause and Europe's safety ! 1 do 
not know that 1 ever experienced 
greater peaeeand serenity of mind, 
and such a confidence that the arm 
of God was stretched out in our be- 
half; that he was in tlie midst of 
us, and gave wisdom to our com- 
mander, — strength to our niinds 
and bodies, — and confusion to our 

1 have, as colour-serjeant, stood 
by the king's colours from the mo- 
ment of our march, till borne, in 
Britain's name, within the gates of 
Paris. Seven of our colour-ser- 
jeants entered the field, and there 
are only myself and one more that 
stand. What sliall 1 render unto 
the Lord for all his benefits ? 1 will 
take the cup of salvation, and call 
upon his name; my tongue shall 
not cease to proclaim his mercy, 
nor my iieart to adore his good- 

The French behaved very ill to 
our prisoners on the I6th; several 
©f our wounded the blood-thirsty 
cowards ran though with their bayo- 
nets and swords. (These were not 
the old soldiers we used to fight 
with.) Some have lived so long as 
to testify against them, and to shew 
us their wounds ; but tlio British 
have in return rescued many of 
ifhejr enemies from death, and given 

them bread and water, and looked 
as much to their safety as to our 

The duke lias greatly endeared 
himself to the British soldiers; 
more so in these actions than in all 
beibre. 1 ever loved and reposed 
confidence in him as my command- 
er ; but the exaujple he gave us on 
the l>^th, and again on the 20tli 
of .Iiine, was sufficient to inspire 
every man with that fortitude and 
determination, " With \\'ellington 
we will conquer, or with Welling- 
ton we will die!" He was conti- 
nually on the first line, and fre- 
quently with our battalion. I have 
seen some of the enemy's cavalry 
charge within fifty yards of him. 
I prayed to God most earnestly for 
his ])rotection; and I bless the 
Lord for his preservation. I hope 
his heart will rejoice in the fruit of 
his labour, giving God the glory 
due for his numy signal victories. 

I am hap])y to say, that Major- 
General IVlaitland is safe and well ; 
he is an example to all around. I 
lament the sufferings of my late 
Colonel Cooke; he was severely 
wounded on the 18th; I pray God 
to spare his valuable life. You 
have often heard uje speak of him. 

But what shall I say in honour of 
my late Lieutenant-Colonel, Wil- 
liam Miller — my great friend, mv 
helper, a servant to the cause of 
Ciirist (in tlie Jsla de Leon, and to 
his latest breath) ? He is no more 
to be seen in this world: he was 
mortally \\ounded on the 16th of 
June, and on the ISth he breathed 
his last. As for Colonel Miller's 
attention to his companv, none ex- 
celled. He was continually in- 
quiring what could be done to make 
them more comfortable. " 1 do 



not care for the expense," he would 
sav, " money is no object to me." 
On the close ot a Jay's march, his 
first care was to see liis men com- 
fortable, and then he considered 
liimself; and after an absence of 
any time, liis first inquiry was con- 
cerning their health and conduct. 
Before the enemy he was cool and 
deliberate, vigilant and brave, firm 
and determined ; and on the 16th of 
June, at the head of his company 
in very close action, cheering his 
men, he received a wound in his 
breast, which proved mortal. As 
lie passed to the rear, borne by four 
men, he said, " Let me see the co- 
lours." The last office 1 could do 
for him was to place the coloui^'S in 
Ensign Batty's handsj to pay him 
his funeral honours while -living. 
He then said, " I thank you,— that 
will do; — I am satisfied." Hii 
meaning u;;?, that he died foF bis 
country, and in a just cause.''-' '^f^J 
I have lost my greatest friend, 
and my companj^afather, England 
a valuable officer, liis parents a be- 
loved son, and the church of Christ 
a friend ; but may our loss be his 
eternal gain ! Serjeant Clarke, 
VV'ho attended him, informs me that 
Ills last 'nrcath was prayer. 1 hope 
his SOU; ii at rest! His labours of 
love and c'larity follow him. I 
s'.'.a'.i see Isim no more in this world, 
but his name will be a lasting trea- 
sure to my heart. Believe me, sir, 
I never felt a loss like this before; 
I cannot fiiul words to express the 
feelings of my h.cart. If there be 
a sn)a!l vacant place in onr valua- 
ble magazine, and yon tliink it 
prudent, let his name fill it; and 
let the f)uhlic know how we value 
a friend of truth, whether he be a 
Methodist or I'.ot. I should like 

our people to know, that an officer, 
a friend to God and the truth, liath, 
in the late glorious victory, sealed 
the justness of our cause with his 

I am very sorry for the com- 
manding officer of our battalion 
and first major, Lieutenant-Colonel 
Stuart, and Lieutenant-Colonel the 
Honourable H. Townsliend, who 
are severely wounded : they are 
most excellent officers and brave 
soldiers. May God in mercy re- 
store them shortly to health ! 

On our march to Paris, we pass- 
ed through a most beautiful and 
fruitful country ; we met with but 
little opposition. At Peronne, on 
the 26th of June, after a long day's 
n>arch, on our arrival, his grace 
gave the first brigade a job. Our 
second battalion carried fascines-, 
and the third battalion stormed the 
out-works in a most masterly man- , 
ner, and the citadel surrendered im-^^ 
mediately, Major-General Mait- 
land commanded ; and here again 
the duke was himself in the midst 
of it. It has been expressed that 
our beloved commander is not much 
exposed. I can fully contradict 
that assertion, for he is often first, 
and always in the midst : he will 
not permit others to do his duty. I 
believe Britain is his treasure, and 
his life he has pledged for its safety. 

The Prussians fight exceedingly 
well. Vv"hen we arrived off Paris', 
they shouted for joy, and the 
French trembled. 

Several villages on the road were 
deserted, for which the inhabitants 
suffered the loss of all things. Pro- 
tection was triven to those that re- 
mained : much damage has been 
donte to the corn. France, by her 
deceit, licentiousness, and abomii- 


liable wickedness, has gathered this 
cloud over herself; and it has burst 
upon lierhead, antl no doubt many 
now rc-[)ent their ioily. The ap- 
pearance of religion is not seen ; 
and to speak of it, is foolishness to 
them. The sabbath is not known 
by that solemn worship which is 
due to God ; it is only known by 
pleasure : and as for common de- 
cency, it seems to be very trifling. 
The element of the trades-people 
is imposition. In Paris all is peace 
and tranquillity, a good reason why. 
But the people tell us, " As soon as 
you are gone, we shall be French- 
men again." 1 think the only thing 
we can do, is, to guarantee the out- 
posts of this country by ourselves 
and allies, until they have destroy- 
ed the fortifications, arsenals, and 
njilitary depots of arms, &,c. and 
leave only what may be necessary 
for internal defence. However, I 
hope God is with the sovereigns 
and ministers in Paris, as he was 
with us at Waterloo, and in all our 
undertakings; and that peace may 
be settled upon a good foundation. 

As to the fortifications which 
Bonaparte boasted of around Paris, 
I neither consider Mont Martre nor 
any other to be worth notice ; not 
a tenth part of those at Peronne. 
I'he entrance into the city and the 
palace is most beautiful, as also the 
triumphal arches and picture-gal- 
lery ; and Napoleon's brazen mo- 
numetu of Ambition, wreathed with 
trophies of victory, anil homage 
])aid him from the different coun- 
tries he concjuered. There is a 
smiiil vacant place near the top, and 
the people tell us it was intended 
to j)lace Britannia there. But in 
his presuujptuous thought he falls; 
his sXrength and elorv depart ; he 

fuLU. i\o. I llJ.' 

sues at the feet of our sovereign 
for mercy, and proves himself to be 
no more a monarch, but a capciv'e 

We soldiers feel thankful for the 
gracious thanks given to us l)y (jur 
Sovt-reign, his Ministers, and the 
Honourable Houses of Parliament 
of our beloved country, for our 
zealous exertions at Waterloo, and 
glorious victory God has crowned 
us with. Be assured, sir, we feel 
this as an invaluable treasure; it 
warms our hearts. There is only 
one remark, or rather a proj>osi- 
tion, made by Sir Francis BurdoU, 
we avowedly disapprove; wiiich 
was, at that momentous height of 
joy to introduce the scene of flog- 
ging. Had the hon. baronet mov- 
ed, that the House should have 
taken into consideration the valua- 
ble services the troo[)s had ren- 
dered their country at Waterloo, 
and the addition of a small pension 
when they pass the board at Chel- 
sea, Sir Francis would have been a 
friend; but as for the other, as 
proposed, we disapprove. For in- 
stance, if any |)art of the line had 
not stood fuai, determined to con- 
quer or (li<-, but had left the field 
and gone to Brussels, Sir F. I sup- 
pose, would not have these men 
(logged ! U'rll, 1 will agree 
with him, that they should be hang- 
ed, and every coward who quits his 
post, and flies from the face of his 
enemy, exposing his couirades t.) 
their mercy, or leaving tiieni in the 
field ; but the good soldier consents 
to the law, that it is wholesome and 
good. 1 approve of the last amend- 
ment rcs[)e(iing cowards, and I 
think it cannot be amended. 

We had a grand review of all 
the British, Hanoverian, and Bel- 



gian troops, on Monday last. It 
was a beautiful sight. The Em- 
peror of Russia was tb.ere, and 
many others of distinction, and his 
Grace the Duke of Wellington on 
his right. The day the emperor 
arrived and saw the duke, he fell j 
upon his neck and kissed liim, and j 
wept, in the presence of the guard. { 

I must conclude witli noticing 
the great kindness of our society in 
Westminster on my departure, and 
their unceasing prayers and inqui- 
ries: I am much indebted to tiiem ; 
my heart is with them. It comforts 
rne to find I have such Iriends un- 
sought. It proves to me that God 
is my friend, and will not leave mv 
fatnily comfortless. I hope soon to 
see all my friends on that peaceful 
shore, where the widow and father- 
less are visited, the distressed re- 
lieved, the poor comforted, and 
where his Gospel shines in its me- 
ridian light, amongst that people 
in whom God delights to dwell. I 
shall then be able to give you a 
better account than at present. 

I am well in health, and feel my 
soul alive to God. I have a hut 
built, and an altar erected unto the 

Lord. My few brethren are well ; 
their experiences all agree in the 
blessed help they received in the 
late actions — peace with God, and 
a full persuasion that he had a 
right to dispose of them as seemed 
good unto him. Now they are 
preserved, they agree to live to and 
for God. We expect to go into 
barracks at Paris in a few days, and 
then I hope to be able to open a 
place for divine worship, and in 
my next to give you a more full 
account of the blessed cause in 
which my soul delights ; but 1 must 
confess 1 never felt the separation 
from God's people in England as I 
have on this service. Though I 
am blessed with great strength of 
body and mind, and union and 
coimnunion with God, yet my heart 
is at home. Oil ! happy, happy 
England ! if thou didst but know 
thy exaltation and privileges, both 
great and small would love and 
adore the Author of all thy mer- 
cies 1 I am, sir, your most dutiful 
and obliged servant, C. W. 

Colour-serjeant, 3ri batfalipn, 
1st Foot Guai'ds. 

To J. B. Esq. London^ 



Marche suivie de Variations siir V Air 
" Will you come to the Bower," 
dediies a Miss Cockburu, par 
Fred. Kalkbrenner. Pr. 3s. 
In the march (four sharps) which 
precedes these variations, Mr. K. 
has given full scope to that rich 
and exuberant fancy, and that Ho- 
rid elegance of expression, which 
are generally observable in his 
works. The subject, which pro- 
perly begins only with the third 
line, is not altoi^ether of a novel 


cast, but its effective harmonic 
support, and, above all, the classic 
superstructure reared upon it, in- 
fuse the highest interest into the 
whole movement: the modulations 
in the second and third pages, es- 
pecially the fine transition to C 
major, p. 2, are of the first order. 
The theme of the variations, " Will 
you come to the Bower," is well 
known to all our readers: in the 
propounding of it, Mr. K. has per- 
mitted himself some little devia-» 



tions from the authentic melody. 
1'hu first variation is cast in coiiti- 
luial semiquaver passages of agree- 
able Hiieiicy, and well supported 
by tl;e accompaniment of the left 
hand. Var. '2 appears to us to 
swerve too freely from the theme, 
of vvhicli it barely gives a hint ; but, 
considered without reference to the 
.subject, its conception and contra- 
puntal arrangement are exquisite. 
The same aberration from the me- 
lody is perceptible in the Uiinor 
var. No. 4 ; but here, too, the sci- 
ence and skill displayed in the 
successive harmonic coiuhinations 
make ample amends for the depar- 
.tiire from the subject. Var. 3 fol- 
lows the melody with fidelity, antl 
derives S])irit and marked preci- 
sion from the demisenutjnaver 
rests, which continually break the 
progress of the right hand. In the 
6th var. we have to applaud an ex- 
cellent running bass; and the 
broken chords in var. 6 produce a 
brilliant effect. The 7th and last 
var. consists of a presto, disposed 
in trij)lets, and serves as a coda, 
which leads to a siiewy and satis- 
factory termination. 
Non Fell ci or alter. Test a Epitala- 
mica Pastorale per le Reggie 
Nozze di S. A. R. la Primipessi/ui 
Carlotte di Galles, col Serenissinio 
Principe di Sassoriia Coburgo, le 
Segiienti Composiziotii sofio vmil- 
-• mente dedicate a S. A, R. ilPrin- 
■ cipe Regente, a S. A. R. la Prin- 
cipessina Carlotte di Galles, ed al 
Hercnissimo Principe Leap, di Sas- 
aoiiia CuOiirgo, da loro umili e fe- 
deli Servitori Leucippo Egineo, 
. e"^ rf«/ Cav. r^Iarescotii. Pr. 6s.' 

To such of our readers as are 
not sufficiently coiwersant in the 
Italian lans:uae"e to translate the 

above title, we have to state, that 
this is a poetical effusion, set to 
music, in celebration of the nup- 
tials of her Royal Highness the 
Princess Charlotte of Wales. The 
whole forms a sort of o[ieratic in- 
terlude, the persons of which are 
shepherds and shepherdesses, A pol- 
io, the Muses, &c.; and tlie music 
consists of airs, duets, and chorus- 
es. From these, we must own, we 
have derived considerable enter- 
tainment. All are written in a very 
pleasing Italifm style of harniony, 
with much diversity of character, 
and, in some instances, with a very 
fair display of science and origi- 
nality. Tile latter remark more 
particiilarl}' a};plies to the empha- 
tic air of Apollo, " Da qucsto glo- 
bo," &c. p. 10, which sets out in 
two sharps, and gradually arrives 
at such a nuniber of flats (Db), 
thai, in order to return smoothly 
to tlie original key, the key of C 
sharp is at once substituted for that 
of D flat. As the text required 
peculiar and striking expression, 
we feel perfectly satisfied with this 
part of the composer's labours. 
But we cannot so well explain the 
poet's intent, when, in the midst of 
the festivity, the Delian god, amidst 
peals of thunder, tells the shep- 
herds, that he never saw a tyran- 
nical disposition ascend to Heaven; 
on the contrary, that such a being 
is sure to be doomed to everlasting 
torments in the dark abyss of Tar- 
tarus. Surely this cannot have 
been meant as a hint ! 
Fare thee well ! zcritten by Lord By- 
ron, composed by W. T. Parke. 
Pr. Is. 6d. 

Numerous and diversified as the 
attempts have been to melodize the 
above poem, we think none of the 
P -2 



«insical ccnipetitors can boast of 
liaviag ftiruishecl a production of 
superior merit, notwithstanding the 
text seems susceptible of a high 
degree of pathetic musical expres- 
sion. Tlie cause of the failure pro- 
bably lies in the haste with which 
publications of tliis description are 
brought out, so as to have the start 
of rival performances, and, at all 
events, to overtake the fleeting im- 
pression of the day. Mr. Parke's 
labour before us, although not the 
least interesting of the several Fate. 
thetcelPs that have come under our 
cognizance, also bears, in our opi- 
nion, intrinsic evidence of the ex- 
pedition with which it was put to- 
gether. We meet with some at- 
tractive ideas, but thev are aban- 
doned before they are sufficiently 
developed : hence arises a want of 
symmetry in the phrases and pe- 
riods. We likewise are of opinion, 
that, for a production of such small 
compass, there are too many parts 
of distinct character and metre to 
combine into a satisfactory whole. 
What would produce interesting 
variety in an extended cantata, is 
not equally admissible in a small 

Hibernian Air, arranged as a Rondo 
for the Piano- For le^ with an In- 
trodiiction, composed, and dedicat- 
. ,ed to ^J.iss Daliojk, by i. B. Cra- 
.,|f»ier^ ^,fM.^9Mixno^^ sdJ rii— sd 
The andante which precedes the 
rondo is a sweet little movement, 
replete with pleasing njelody in its 
first portion, and the latter half 
proceeds through fancifid passages 
of great elegance to a |iau«eoo G, 7. 
The Irish air, which farms the sub- 
ject of the rondo, contains a de- 
SQ,ri ptipn of h^irinuuy (bar ^) wliac h, 
as it IS the property of tiie air it- 

self, affords matter of surprise, that 
it should not have stood in the way 
of the choice of the subject alto- 
gether. However frequent it may 
be in Hibernian compositions to 
leap from the chord of F major to 
that of G minor, we shall never be 
able to reconcile our ear to such a 
harmony, which virtually contains 
both successive fifths and octavee, 
and which, when admitted into the 
works of such a master as Mr. C. 
obtains higlj authority in favour of 
its; more general currency. This 
unfortunate bar, of course, makes 
its appearance at every repetition 
of the theme. In all other respects 
the rondo before us is worthy of 
the author's name. The digressive 
matter, which immediately follows 
the air, is tastefully conceived : an 
agreeable dolce, in the spirit of the 
mofeivo, intervenes,/?. 3; after which 
several neat passages of semiqua- 
vers enffao-e our attention. In the 
fourth page a very attractive and 
melodious part in two flats is in- 
serted, in the course of which tl>e 
right hand crosses into the bass, 
with a happy eff"ect. 
Anf>zcer to '' Jessy the Flower (.*f 
Damhlaite,^^ composed, zcith an 
Accompaniment for the Piano- 
For/f, by C.N.Smith. Pr. Is.iJd. 
The Scotch melody of this song 
is agreeable, and well adapted to 
(the poetry. It is evidently an imi- 
tation of the tune of " Jessie, the 
Flow'r o' Dumblane," composed 
by Mr. R. A. Smith, to which it 
professes to be an answer. 
Roi/s Wife of Alldivaloch, arranged 
for the Piano- Forte as a Rondo^ 
icifh an Introduction, composed, 
and respect fw'lt^ dedicated to Bliss 
Serym?, by T.Howell. Pr.2s.6d. 
The introduction, in which the 



subject of the rondo is judiciously 
gluuced at, is conceived with taste, 
and alt()<;(llic'r in ii;ood stylo. The 
same [general remark applies to the 
next u»ovomc?U, which, upon the 
whole, however, seems to exhibit 
rather the character of an andante, 
interspersed with occasional varia- 
tions, than that of a rondo. In 
point of general treatment and 
keeping, we ijave every reason to 

he pleased with this part of Mr. 
H.'s labours. The decorative atn- 
plifuations are satisfactory; the 
subject is aj)propriately represent- 
ed under various kindred keys, 
major and minor ; and the harmo- 
nies are correct and elective. I\Ir. 
li. appears to have studied classic 
ujodels with advantage and suc- 


Coiisisliuir vf iNTERESTiya Ext li.icTS from SEir Popitar 



(Fruiii JvMts's Travels in Gcrviauj/, S\^eden, &.c.) 

0>J thesubjectoffuturedestinies, r eleven and twelve at niglit, was 
itmustbesaidthattheCrown Prince ' surprised at the appearance of a 
(of Sweden) personally deserves jl light iii the window of the hall of 
everyniarkof gratitude that the na- |[ the diet: hedemaudod of the gran.'l 
lion can confer upon him, for his jj chancellor Bjelke, who was pre- 
exertions, his spirit, his activity, his [ sent, what it was he saw, and was 
generosity: but there are still ma- i: answered that it was only the re- 
ny parties friendly to tlie old dy- L flection of the njoon: with thi«^, 
nasty, and, as to what may take j however, he was dissatisfied ; and 
])lace hereafter, I have too little the senator Bjelke soon after en- 
skill in prophecy to hazard even a j tering the room, ho addressed the 
conjecture. Such persons as are i same question to him, but r.-ceivcd 
desirous, however, to look into what I the san»e answer. Lo(jking after- 
is to come, may be amused by I tervvardsiigaiii through the window, 
perusing the following narrative ; he thought he observed a crowd of 
of an extraordinaryvision of Charles persons in the hall : upon this, saiil 
XI. It is taken from an account , he, "Sirs, all is not as it should 
written with his own hand, attested li be — in the confidence that he who 
by several of his ministers of state, .j fears God need dread nothing, I 
and preserved in the royal library, jj will go and see what this may be." 
It contains, upon the whole, so cu- Ordering the noblemen before- 
rious a specimen of the mind and mentioned, as also Oxenstiorn and 
manner of one of the greatest Svve- Brahe, to accoujpany lum, he sent 
dish monarchs, that no apology, I for Grunstern, the door-keeper, 
am sure, is needful for its intro- ' and descended the staircase leading 
duction. ; to the hall. ■^' 

Charles XI. it seems, sitting in Here the party seoni to have been 
his chamber, between the hours of,, sensible of a certain dcj^rce ol • trtr- 



pidation, and no one else daring 
to open the door, the king took the 
tey, unlocked it, and entered first 
into the anti-chamber : to their in- 
finite surprise it was fitted up with 
black cloth: alarmed by this ex- 
traordinary circumstance, a second 
pause occurred ; at length the king 
set his foot within the hail, but fell 
back in astonishment at what he 
saw: again, however, taking cou- 
rage, he made his companions pro- 
mise to follow him, and advanced. 
The hall was lighted up and array- 
ed in the same mournful hanirinss 
as the anti-chauiber: in the centre 
was a round table, where sat sixteen 
venerable men, each with large 
volumes lying open before them : 
above was the king, a young man 
of 16 or 18 years of age, with the 
crown on his head and sceptre in 
his hand. On his right hand sat 
a personage about 40 years old, 
uhose face bore the strongest marks 
of integrity; on his left an old man 
of 70, wlic seemed very urgent with 
the young king that he should make 
a certain sign with his head, which 
as often as he did, the venerable 
men struck their hands on their 
books with violence. 

Turning my eyes, says he, a lit- 
tle farther, I beheld a scaffold and 
executioners; and men with their 
clothes tucked up,cutting oft" heads 
one after the other so fast, that the 
blood formed a deluge on the floor : 
those who suff^ered were all young 
men. Again I looked up, and per- 
ceived the throne behind the great 
table ahuost overturned; near it 
stood a man of 40, that seemed the 
protector of the kingdom. I trem- 
bled at the sight of these things, 
and cried aloud — "It is the voice 

of God ! — What ought I to under- 
stand? — When shall all this come 
to pass?" — A dead silence prevail- 
ed ; but on my crying out a second 
time, the young king answered me 
saying, "This shall not happen in 
your time, but in the days of the 
sixth sovereign after you. He shall 
be of the same age as I now appear 
to have, and this personage sitting 
beside me gives you the air of him 
that shall be the regent and pro- 
tector of the realm. During the 
last year of the regency, the coun- 
try shall be sold by certain young 
men, but he shall then lake up the 
cause, and, acting in conjunction 
with tlie young king, shall establish 
the throne on a sure footing; and 
this in such a way, that never was 
i)efore or ever afterwards shall be 
seen in Sweden so great a king. 
All the Swedes shall be happy un- 
der him; the public debts shall be 
paid, he si^.all leave many millions 
in the treasury, and shall not die 
but at a very advanced age : yet 
before he is firmly seated on his 
throne, shall an efiusion of blood 
take pla<:e unparalleled in histor^^, 
— You," added he, "who are king 
of this nation, see that he is ad- 
vertised of these matters : you have 
seen all: act according to your 

Having thus said, the whole va- 
nished, and (adds he) we saw no- 
thing but ourselves and our flam- 
beaux ; while the anti-chand:)er, 
through which we passed on re- 
turning, was no longer clothed in 
black. " Nous e)ilrames da)is mes 
appartemens, et je me mis aiissitot a 
ecrire ce que favois vu aiiisi (pie les 
avertissemeiits aussi bieti que je lepuis. 
Que ie tout est vrai, je lejure sur ma 



vie et man honrieiir, aiita/it (pie le I 
Dkn nt'aide le corps et PaTne. ! 

"Ch XI. aujourcP/iui Rvi de Su^de."" | 

"Van 1601, 17 Dec." 

" Comme temoins et presents s?/r /es 
liens nous avofis vu tout ce que S. M. 
a rapportt et nous falfermons p,(ir no- 
ire serna'nt, aitldiit cjiie Dieii nous aide 
pour le corps et Co me. — H. J. 
BjelkKjGV. C/iaiirelicrdu I'oijautne, 
teury — Ax. OxtNSTIERN, Scudteur, 
— Petri-: Guunsterx, IJuissier.'" 

The whole sttjry is curious, and 
well vvortl» atteniiou; hut unless 
the young king's ghostly represen- 
tative made an error in his chrono- 
logical calculation, it will be dif- 
ficult to reconcile the time specified 
with that which is yet to come. I 
can offer no explanation, and be- 
queatli tlie whole, like the hiero- 
! glypliic in Moor's Almanack, to 
; the better ingenuity ot" my read- 


TilF, police, from its inquisitorial 
nature, lias infinite sources of gain ; 
they sell the liberty of the press, 
defraud the stranger, plunder rob- 
bers of their stolen goods, and re- 

justice: in fact, they do hut follow 
the principle and common basis of 
every branch of the Russian go- 

It will he sufficient for illustra- 

ceive (ce^ alike of the accuser and I tion of these circumstances, to re- 
the accuseil. Provinciai officers li l&te an anecdote or two connected 
favour tlie wealthy merchant with 'with tlie administration of justice, 
the permission to introduce con- i; as being the most material of the 
tral)and goods; and again, out ofi^evdjfal public departments. An 
the number of slaves sent by the | American merchant sought redress 
seigneur fur the imperial levies, by law for some unfair dealings on 
they select the empty-handed pea- the part of a Russian trader; the 
sant for military service* in the i! lawyer whom he retainetl, came to 
former case, th.e agents of the cus- }' him on the second day after his ap- 
tom-house stop in also for their due' lication — '■ I have, "said he, "open- 
share of pillage ; in the latter, the ed the prosecution, and will fairly 
surgeons and procureurs follow relate th.e present state of vour 

pari passu the example of ilu ir su- 
periors. It would be endless to 

fS^^rtlVe judge says your cause 
seems fair and equitable, and you 

ittempt a catalogue of their enor- ■ oiVer 5,{jv0 rubles to tlie court; lie 

mities, all oi" which, nevtrtheless, 
custom has sanctioned with, as it 
were, a prescriptive right. The 
sums paid are regarded only as re- 
gular tVtis or perquisites of office: 
the functionaries themselves have 
been bred up with the knowledge 
of no other system, and are sur- 
prised to hear a foreigner say, that 
acts which are done openly every 
day can savour of ille-ality or in- 

would, he id(f>itk, Wish to itidine to 
your sidfe, lint, oiV ihe oilier Hand, 
the defen dad t offers 10,000. W'hat 
can he dor" I'he Ameiricah Ij^id 
doun immediately 10,000 'rnbles';Tt 
was taken to the Tribunal of Justice. 
and he tritittii^h6t1 '6VcV' his opppf 

,,., * . , ^ u\l J:: •(Add 

nent. ^ 

Another gentlemii'n fn^S'tufiea'a 
suit for the recovery of a debt, but 
ofTerinc: no bribe, the case was of 



course held to be perfectly clear, 
and he was non-suited : the defend- 
ant, in the plenitude of victory, 
tlien commenced a process against 
liim for defamation, and damages 
were found to the amount of 
300,000 rubles, with a farther pu- 
nishment of a sentence to clean the 
sewers, because, forsooth, it was a 
llussian magistrate whose fair name 
had been tims brought into ques- 
tion by the object of the action. 
Upon ibis the gentleman appealed 
to a superior court, but with ill 
success; they conlirmed tiie ver- 
ilict, jind still farther added to its 
iuiqtiity by sentencing him to un- 
dergo flagellation. Tiie matter now 
grew serious, and be made appli- 
cation through a high quarter to 
t)ne of the presidents of tbe senate ; 
tiie cause was again heard, but the 
result was of another nature: the 
sentences of the former tribunals 
were insiaiuly reversed, tbe debt 
recovered, and the officers that had 
sat in judgment on him, came in a 
body submissively to beg his for- 
giveness, and entreat him to pur- 
sue tbe inquiry into their conduct 
no fartlier. 

The acts of injustice were not, 
however, committed merely be- 
cause the apj)ellants were foreign- 

ers; for the ordinary conduct of 
the courts towards the native Rus- 
sians is of a stamp precisely simi- 
lar. A few years since a relation 

of Prince came from Moscow 

to claim his patrimonial inherit- 
ance, that was withheld from him 
by his guardian. Arrived at Pe-, 
tersburg, he met by accident witli 
one of the highest officers of the 
law on a visit at the house of a re- 
lation, ani-', aner some conversa- 
tion on diiiereiit matters, ventured 
to open his case to him : he receiv- 
ed for an answer, that his suit might 
probably occupy eight or ten years* 
consideration ; " but," added lie, 
"follow my advice,sacrificeapartof 
your property to save the rest, and 
you shall be put in possession in 
the course of as many days." He 
then wrote down a list of lees to be 
paid to the several members of the 
court (himself included), and gave 
it to the young noblenian, who, on 
his part, obeying this friendly mo- 
nitor, came on the following day 
as plaintiff to the senate with his 
petition, and presented each of 
these functionaries with the sum 
specified, wrapped up in the body 
of his pa]>ers. The event exceed- 
ed his expectation ; in four days an 
award was given in his favour. 


(Frnni Colonel Keatinge's Travels in Europe and Africa.) 

Saadi Homed Ebn Abuallah, 
the present sultan (1735), is never 
seen but on horseback. Hence it 

low is the vindictive tinge, the 
drapery of Scythian Mars, and said 
to have been affected by his ma- 

can only be generally judged that : jesty's ancestors when they set out 
lie is very tall, meagre, and largje- I upon their blood-letting excur- 
boned. When he goes out in bis • sions), drawn by one horse or mule, 
carriage, pi common English four- and tbe only wheeled vehicle in the 
wheeled post-chaise of yellow co- country, the blinds are drawn up. 
lour (casually to be sure, but yel- Slaves also run before the carriage. 



w'ltli long and heavy sticks, to drive 
obtruders to their due distance. 
Some courtiers and relations by 
blood, Xeritls, run by the side of 
it; and his majesty's negro guards, 
on foot, not in rank and file, nor in 
mass, but in an order somewhat 
between the two, bustle after. Of 
course it will be perceived, that 
exterior dignit}-, all not personally 
inherent, is completely laid aside. 
On the whole, it is indeed a most 
u n regal coWt'ij-c, and gives a very dif- 
ferent impression from the mount- 
ed appearance of the monarch, 
which altogether is oriental and 
military. This sultan is grandson 
of Muley Ishmail, whom he, in se- 
veral instances, considerably re- 
sembles ; but not, however, in a 
sanguinary disposition. But he is, 
as part of the regal office, grand 
executioner of the state: as in 
some countries the throne is the 
fountain of mercy, here it is the 
altar of expiation for guilt. Shoot- 
ing, beheading, maiming, and dis- 

being made concerning him. The 
most assiduous and dexterous thief 
in Tan-'iir, was a man who had thus 
lost both his hands by the stroke of 
justice, and preserved his life by 
the foregoing process. Thus, of 
course, it will be perceived that liis 
incorrigibility uas on a par with 
his other qualities. No character 
on classical record in this way has,, 
ever equalled him, for the great 
hero of antiquity in the thieving 
line was eminent by his physical 
forces. As Witherington used his 
stumps to fight on, so this bead of 
the profession used his to sweep 
the loose change ofi" the shop coun- 
ters in the bezaar into the folds of 
his clothing; and it may be sup- 
posed he did not fail to make good 
use of his legs while they were left 
to him. Some deny the statement, 
that this sultan's hand had no tinge 
of blood upon it, and assert tlie 
contrary as eye-witnesses to reite- 
rated instances. Such is the re- 
liance to be ])laced on human tes- 

membering, all are executed as the ; timony! For it is a strict tact, that 
monarch awards upon the spot; for j he never did put a man to death 
he is always present. It must be jj \vith his own hand. The real case 
recorded to his honour, that, con- j| is, that the leaning bias of man- 
trary to the practice of his prede- kind, narrators and audience, to 
cessors, all these ultimate awards J the worst side of the story, is such, 
aredealtoutwithamitigatcdhand. I that we may very logically con- 
Thus dismemberment is now the [ elude, a favourable tale, having 
usual punishment for crimes where- ; nothing but its truih to reconunend 
by death is supposed to be earned, it to favour, is most probably pos- 
The hand or foot is usually ampu- j sessed of that ill-received quality 
tated. Boiling pitch is the grand I to sustain it; although, iudeed. 

panacea. Surgery is nearly put on 
the shelf by the adoption of this 

truth and probability combined are 
unfortunately very feeble powers 

mode. It obviates all'necessity fur ! to drag their charge against the 
bandages, tourniquets,' or dress- j force of the moral current. This 
ings. A kettle of it is at hand over j may induce us to strike offa round 
the fire, the stump is dipped into ^j number or so from the items in the 
it, and the criminal limps off as : account against his majesty's uncle 
>vellas he can, no furtlier inquiry and predecessor, Homed Debbyj,^^ 
f'ol. IL No. I J 11. Q. 



but in regard to himself, it must 
be admitted, that the charge has 
been very near ca])ability of sub- 
stantiation. Despotism has not 
succeeded to emasculate the Moor. 
One of his officers, thinking him- 
self wronged by him, expressed 
himself so firmly in the royal pre- 
sence, that the sultan, enraged, 
drew liis sabre, and cut him on the 
head with a so definitively intend- 
ed effort, tljai the weapon, by the 
violence of it, flew out of his hand. 
The officer took it from the ground, 
wiped, and presented it to his mas- 
ter to finish the business; which 
impressive instance of resigned re- 
solution so struck the despot, that 
he relented, sheathed his sword, 
and took him into favour ever after. 
If, however, he he compunctious as 
to life, the like cannot be by any 
means said in his praise in regard 
to property; and as acquisition is 
the predominant passion of the 
Moor (what a foundation for na- 
tional advance!) and he values his 
possession more than his life, seve- 
ral instances have occurred of des- 
peration excited on such occasions. 
Thus, in regard to court favourites, 
so far as dealings with foreigners 
are concerned, the golden rule the 
sultan acts by (or he is foully belied ), 
is to affix a minimum upon the pos- 
sible receipts, by way of bribery or 
otherwise, of those who have the 
happiness of basking (it is no place 

for slumbering) in the sunshine of 
his favour; and he imposes his 
taxes on them by this scale. He 
thus, at least, cannot charge them 
with mercenary views: if he did 
so, the}- might retort with justice 
equal to Ancient Pistol on his mas- 
ter, " Didst thou notsliare? Hadst 
thou not fifteen-pence?" The pre- 
sent sultan has a shrewdness not to 
be deceived. He evidently is of 
opinion, that the worst peoj.le in 
his dominions are those that aggre- 
gate ahout Ids own person, and he 
treats them accordingly. Thus his 
chief vengeance, confiscation, upon 
tiiat most convenient political prin- 
ciple (since adopted in Europe) of 
making crimination a source of re- 
venue, is unremittingly enforced 
on them; whereas death, or corpo- 
ral suffering, is inflicted on the 
lowest classes with comparative 
lightness. In his various points of 
concurrence with his predecessor 
Ishmail, he is noticeable in think- 
ing, or appearing to think, no trou- 
ble too great to obtain a quiet life 
by. This idea aftbrds a clue, at 
least, to most of his habits. Ish- 
mail, too, concurred with him in 
his idea of mankind, when he com- 
pared himself and his subjects to a 

lan carrying rats in a sack 


he do not keep the bag continual- 
1}' shaking, they will eat their way 


Little has been as yet said of 
the Jews, frequently as they pre- 
sent themselves here to a stranger's 
notice. None can be more import- 
ant among the people of this coun- 

try to a Eiiropean, for on them he 
is obliged in almost every respect 
to depend. By them it may almost 
be said he is to live. They afford 
a lamentable instance of the depth 



to which political degradation may 
morally debase human nature. The 
facts will speak for the causes. 
Under all their vexations, their 
honourable attachment to their re- 
ligion is as inflexible as elsewhere. 
Christians renegade daily; or, if 
they do not, it is for want of en- 
couragement: but such a thing is 
unknown among the Jews. It is 
probable, however, Mohommedism 
would not permit itself to be pol- 
luted by the introduction of a Jew 
convert, any more than it would 
feel atriumphin makingone. How- 
ever, they perform their ritual in 
their synagogues here, to the ho- 
nour of the established religion, 
unmolested by outrage or mocker}*. | 
Men and women, at their service, re- I 
cite prayers with somewhat of a mu- i 
sical cadence, nodding the head as 
if keeping time. They have no ob- 
jection to the appearance of stran- 1 
gers at their religious ceremony. , 
The rabbi also reads and expounds 1 
to his flock the holy writings. It j 
appears as if with tiiem the exercise ! 
of their religion was a compensation 
for every evil in life. How great, 
how dilVusive a blessing ! They af- 
ford a revenue to the state for their 
toleration, as subjects, paying a i 
capitation tax on all males who 
iiave reached the age of puberty. 
This capitation tax is a kind of poli- 
tical protection. They are at worst 
not the outcasts of the state, al- 
though they do not soar to tlie de- 
gree of serfage. If the period of 
payn)ent be disputed, a string is 
put round the lad's neck, and after- 
wards doubled in length and put 
in his mouth : if then, and thus, 
it pass over the head, he is deemed 
an object of taxation ; if otherwise, 
not. This procedure passes under 

the inspection of the heads of the 
Jew nation here, who rate each 
individual, or ought to do so, ac- 
cording to his ability to pay, and 
thus make up the sum required. 
Each Jew appears in person to pay 
his quota; and this being done, a 
Moor touches him on the head with 
a switch,andsays, *' Jump :" wljcre- 
on the Jew goes away. It is re- 
markable how these people here 
delight in personal finery, almost 
equally as it is by what means they 
acquire or retain it. Young and 
old, although they hardly dare ven- 
ture to stand still or look around 
them in the streets, from fear of 
personal outrage, will have an am- 
ple stock of splendid clothing (to- 
tally indiflPerent as to the selection 
or blendings of costume), in which 
they cannot venture, however, to 
be seen beyond their own doors! 
The opposite neighbours, for in- 
stance, at Mogodor, of this de- 
scription, were frequently observed 
passing a whole day, a sabbath or 
! holidayfor instance, on their hcuse- 
j roof; the women loaded with trin- 
' ketsof value, or glitter at least; the 
men in velvet, and laced like Spa- 
nish admirals, but their whole 
! clothing from head to foot arrang- 
ed in the most whimsical combina- 
tions or contrasts. For instance, 
on a man a greasy night cap on the 
I head, just barely showing that it 
, had once been white, surmounted 
by a great three-cocked hat with a 
broad gold lace! Any one who has 
visited these countries will hardly 
require to be ren)inded of the 
beauty of the daughters of Israel. 
Ovid's characteristics are, however, 
still too applicable. All have fine 
eyes, most have fine features; nor 
is beautv so transient a flower with 
Q. 2 



thein, or its loss a cause of such 
early regret, as in some otlier coun- 
tries. The matron Jewess has that 
at lier period of life, more power- 
ful often singly, than with youth 
on its side. The widow often shines 
as preeminent amongst them as in 
trie eyes of our Scandinavian an- 
cestors of the cold shores of the 
Baltic. Unfortunately, they seem 
to hold no heauty of complexion 
in estimation, save that which is 
the result of their own labour. In 
consequence, the colour-box is a 
greatdeal too much recurred to, and 
distant effect much more studied 
than closer investigation will bear 
out. As to the little managements 
to give relief to the eyes, this is 
no wa}' exceptionable; but the use 
of white paint is deleterious in a 
high degree. As before observed, 
notwithstanding all this, a Jew is 
not permitted to appear without- 
doors save in black, a colour of 
evil omen in Moorish eyes. Avi- 
dity to obtain, and art to conceal 
money, are the main stimuli of 
action with this people, and the 
tendency of their industry and ear- 
liest education. From among them, 
chiefly, the Christians take their do- 
mestic servants; because, although 
not so cleanly, they are less scru- 
pulous ab(jut forms than the Moors. 
As a community, they are subject 
to every oppression. So circum- 
stanced, it is unnecessary to add, 
that, as individuals, they must of 
course be daily sui)ject to every in- 
jury. A iMussulman child of eight 
years of age already begins to ex- 
ert his early-felt power to tyran- 
nize, and reviles in premature ma- 
lignity, by abusing, striking, and 
stoning the Jew, whose hand, he 
has already been told, if raised 

against him, is infallibly cut off. 
It may well be judged what must 
be the effect upon a community, 
in poijit of depravation, always to 
see at hand a people the ready in- 
viters, by their debased political 
situation, and convenient conduc- 
tors, of the ebullitions of the vilest, 
but at the same time earliest, and 
certainly most universal, emotions 
of the human mind. How the ty- 
rant is dejjraded in the scale of 
human nature, in comparison with 
the unfortunate slave to whose lot 
of life it has fallen to be domineer- 
ed over! But Christians and free- 
men — so seductive are example and 
impunity — will assume the Moor 
here ; and so inconsistent is human 
nature, the chivalrous spirit will 
then seize the Mohommedan, and 
make him step forward as a pro- 
tector of the weak and prostrate! 
Such things are ; for they have been. 
A Moor cannot (and these are the 
rights, liberties, and privileges of 
the nation, to which these people 
are as much attached, and have as 
strong an impresson of, as Britons 
can for tlie souls of them be, or 
have, for theirs,) be put to death 
for killing a Jew, although he may 
for killing a Christian, The one 
is an outcast race endured for con- 
venience ; the others are only na- 
tural enemies — a wide distinction 
in the scale of human rancour. If 
a Moor, poitr se desemmyer, just for 
a little innocent amusement, he 
means no more, or, in other words, 
to indulge the pla}^ of malignity, 
goes into a Jew's house, disturbs 
his family, and grossly insults the 
women, the Jew dare not insinuate 
to hi;n the slightest hint, that his 
walking: out as soon as suited his 
convenience would be any way ac- 

DEGRADRD state of the jews in MOIIOCCO. 


ceptable. He must view and he 
conscious of all without a frown, 
or still less a niiirinnr ; either would 
he considered and revenged on the 
spot as an insult, A Moor may 
beat a Jew as severely and as long 
as he pleases, without Ijeing called 
on to assign any reason for it. 
Children are seen to strike them in 
the streets, for passing them dis- 
respectfully, or, as they term it, 
giving them ill treatment. They 
are obliged to walk barefooted by 
the door of every mosque, and also 
by thoseof the houses of the officers 
of state, unless they should be ele- 
vated to the dignity of a Clirisliaii's 
servant, in wliich case they are ex- 
empted. Their religion prohibit- 
ing the use of any food not killed 
by themselves (the iinportance an- 
nexed to this process of human 
life extends amongst other ancient 
nations as well as this), causes a po- 
sitive internal association amongst 
themselves, which is adhered to 
with a rigidity of which rare spe- 
cimens to like effect can be boasted 
by Christians or Mohommedans. 
The .lew interpreter of the English 
embassy, by name Isaac, in com- 
pliance with the law, which admits 
of no dispensations, uould eat no- 
thing but eggs on his route, from 
the time he left Morocco until he 
reached Tangier; and, had he not 
met with them, would certainly 
have died sooner than have broken 
his fast. The treatment of this 
iiation in England, mutatis mutan- 
dis, was little better than here, as 
may be seen in " Anglia Judaica,^' 
and the " Chronicles." It is not 
consistent with the historical dig- 
nit}- which ever must be the his- 
torian's first oljject (truth owes 
about as much to history as science 

does to the classics), as it is (like the 
master's honour in those of his ser- 
vant, according to Swift,) in his 
hands, to notice such a trifle as a 
massacre of eight or ten thousand 
incorrigible unbelievers, deaf to 
argument and blind to fact. It is 
therefore useless to look for infor- 
mation in that quarter. But facts 
are stubborn, and must make peo- 
ple weigh well, before they may 
feel authorized to throw exclusive 
censure on others. But the mo- 
tive, to be sure, was good : a mur- 
dered infant was found in a ditch ; 
and this was Jew-work, in mockery 
of cur Saviour's crucifixion. En- 
gravings to similar elfect are nt this 
moment in circulation in Spain. 
Such is the cordial propensity to 
iiaiioo man on to persecution 1 But 
in the situations now recited, ibis 
wretched community furnishes a 
lam.entable proof of the folly of a 
people venturing upon the acqui- 
sition of property, under any state, 
without being duly guarded by the 
possession of an adequate propor- 
tion of weight in the balance of 
political power, whatever form that 
latter may happen to bear. 

Among the extraoriiinarv trait* 
of character which mankind pre- 
sents, and which are, perhaps, no 
where more strongly marked than 
in this very country, and the ])eo- 
ple now under observation, some 
may think it not the least so, that 
one so completely prostrate in the 
dustshould show sentiments of emo- 
tion and resentment in the face of 
power: and yet such is tlie incon- 
sistency of man, that this has been 
the case, and recently. A few 
days before the arrival of the em- 
bassy at Morocco, a Moor murder- 
ed a Jewish merchant, cut his body 



in pieces, and threw them into the 
shafts or ventilators ot" the aque- 
ducts in the plain. The Jews of 
Morocco, with a zeal and energy 
hardly to he expected from a peo- 
ple so circumstanced, and which 
show the stuff yet latent in the na- 
tion, by a most active sedulous 
search, in spite of power, awe, or 
connivance, discovered the mur- 
derer, who was seized and thrown 
into prison, where it was intended 
to have punished him, not capitally, 
because in this respect the monar- 
chy is a limited one, but by a se- 
vere bastinading, which, it is to 
be observed, may be so managed 
as to have all the effect of death. 
The Jews, however, in the interim, 
under a strong sense of the wrong 
sustained, collected in crowds a- 
round the palace, and clamoured 
for justice. Inclined towards the 
heaven-descended principle as the 
sultan then was, when his ears 
were assailed by this unaccustomed 
sound, and he learned that it was 
these infidels who had dared to 
raise their voices around the pre- 
cints of royalty, he ordered his 
guards forthwith to beat them home 
to their quarter; an order which 

they had a great deal too much at 
heart not to execute, con amove, with 
an unmerciful punctuality of obe- 
dience and energy. And to their 
quarter they were, for this indis- 
cretion, confined on the arrival of 
the embassy in this city; in conse- 
quence of which its throngs sur- 
passed imagination. The oppor- 
I tunity was not omitted of imposing 
j a heavy fine on them. Crimination 
j a source of public revenue, delin- 
1 quency an object of fosterage as 
i a prop of the state, private vices 
t public benefits, all the political 
'Jesuitry of Europe, will meet coun- 
i tenance on this side of the Straits. 
All labours here beneath Mohom- 
medans devolve on the Jews ; such, 
for instance, as carrying a Chris- 
j tian through the surfs of the At- 
I lantic, burying executed criminals, 
supplying the calls of the mena- 
gerie; in fact, whenever power 
has a call for a scavenger, that 
office devolves upon the Jew. It 
does not require so strong a picture 
as that of a Jew of Morocco to 
make a Briton's mind revolt at the 
idea of slavery, nor is conternpt a 
just sentiment towards the wretch- 
ed beinss so enthralled. 


Amongst other visitants to the 
embassy, at leisure hours, was a 
juggler. He had live serpents in 
a leathern budget: these he had 
made docile, and when enlarged, 
they meandered about the floor, 
keeping an harmonic action of ca- 
dence to the sound of his tabor and 
pipe. And he also bore upon his 
bare shaven head scorpions nestled 
under his turban, which ran in and 
out at the word of command ; and 

he flourished his cups and balls 
with as much dexterity as is seen 
in Europe. His serpents were of 
various descriptions; some such, 
indeed, as have baffled all subse- 
quent inquiry. Probably they 
could be found, were the special 
distinctives given, in the catalogue 
of those Libyan reptiles transmit- 
ted to us by Lucan. All that could 
be done on the occasion, in the 
way of ascertainment, amounted 



only to prove that they were of the 
deal avltler species; for they did in 
good sooth listen to the voice of 
the cliariuer, althougli the wisdom 
of liis charming uas not powerful 
enou<>h to touch dull mortal ears. 
Certainly tiie manner in which 
these animals' organs are affected 
by harmonic sounds, is very curi- 

The serpent-tamers, who are 
somcwliat distinct from tlie jug- 
glei>, although the two professions 
are by no means incompatible, ex- 
hibit in the streeis to a circle ot 
spectators. They take from a lea- 
thern budget, as before mentioned, 
seven or eight of these animals, 
which writhe around, whilst their 
master seems to hold with them a 
kind of discourse, which allords en- 
tertainment, apparently, to such 
who have the p-ood fortune to nn- 
derstand it. At intervals, the man 
plays and sounds on a small flageo- 
let, to which he makes motions of 
his body as if intended to imitate 
dancing. Part of what he did was 
evidently to irritate the reptile, 
which darted and bit at him with 
the greatest fury, whilst he han- 
dled and threw him about with per- 
fect unconcern. One of these ani- 
mals was truly malignity personi- 
fied. It would he hardly |)ossible 
for the ablest pencil to put into the 
worst of human or diabolical piiy- 
siognomies, malignity exceeding 
that which is the impression of this 
outcast of creation. He advances 
obliquely and insidiously with the 
curvature of the body in front, to 
ensure his object, before he shows 
his teeth ; and his eye ever indicates 
him possessed of design and incli- 
nation to use them to otliers' de- 
struction. Another is black, and 

as harndess as Ancient Pistol ; al- 
though it would not be altogether 
discreet to warrant the security of 
a Barbary hen within reach of his 
fangs. This reptile but half claims 
the name, for it keeps nearly that 
proportion of the length of the 
body erect. It has a very small 
proportionate head (the converse 
is the indicative of poison), and its 
sense of self-importance inflates 
the neck to a degree that might 
cause it to be thought immediate 
apoplexy must ensue. It is thus 
broadened, and proportionably, to 
appearance, flattened to the shape 
of the feather-edged part of an oar. 
This species is to be seen in the 
hieroglyphics of Egypt. The ser- 
pent tribe certainly possesses a 
great proportion of n)ind, bad and 
indiflferent. The largest of all the 
various kinds seen exhibited, were 
six feet long and about four inches 
in diameter. The sound of the 
pipe draws the serpent from his 
retreat. The poison, they say, is 
extracted from their fangs b}- cot- 
ton-balls given them to bite on, and 
' it takes time to form anew. 
! These exhibitors are not to be 
confounded with the sectarians of 
Sidua Ayssa (literaliy our Lord 
I Jesus), who are frequently met 
! with, having enormous vipers coil- 
j ed round their arms, necks, and 
I bodies. They are denominated af- 
! ter their founder Ayssa, a Scythic 
I term, honorific, and in the sense of 
saadi or lord. These say, that their 
founder endowed them with power 
over all venomous animals. They 
certainly have command of thenj. 
W'itli a witless kind of wit, express- 
ed by a broad unmeaning stare, 
they thrust the animal, whic'.i seems 
stnpihed, in the faces of such as are 



inadvertent enoug!) to admit their 
approach. They bear a strange 
appearance, with their long, mea- 
gre, naked limbs, fatuitous coun- 
tenances, and hali" a dozen of these 
animals of large size twining and 
hanging around them. This sect 
is distinguished by wearing a white 
cap, while the other Moors wear 
red ones. Once in the year these 
enthusiasts (they have not yet as- 
pired to fanaticism) have their ge- 
neral meeting, which it is a service 
of danger to ap|)roach. Indeed 
about that season they are not 
safely to be met individual!}'. They 
then seem really possessed, and 
are the most dangerous of maniacs. 

They fly at and tear with their 
teeth every object that they come 
across, animate or inanimate, that 
offends or excites their fancies. A 
band of them once attacked the 
houseof a British merchant at Tan- 
gier; and although the inmates 
made a good defence, they would 
have been all destroyed had there 
not happeiuid to have been in the 
house some powerful mastiffs of 
true English breed, which, being 
unchained against these naked 
wretches, soon brought them to 
their right senses by pinning them 
to the ground, to the general satis- 
faction of the peaceably inclined 
of every sect. 

A GOWN of white soft satin, cut 
low all round the back and bosom. 
The skirt gored, and a good deal 
of fulness thrown behind. The 
body, which is disposed in small 
plaits, displays the shape, as our 
readers will perceive bv our print, 
to very great advantage; it is 
trimmed round the bosom with a 
wreath of small white net roses, 
with a little tuft of pearl in the 
heart of each. Long loose sleeve, 
composed of wliite lace, and finish- 
ed a la Parlsieiiiie with a rich dou- 
ble frill of lace at tlie wrists. The 
skirt is ornamented, in an exqui- 
sitely tasteful style, with a broad 
flounce of rich blond, surmounted 
by a wreath of roses and deep scol- 
lops of white net, the points of 
which are finisiietl by bows of white 
gatin ribbon. The effect of this 



trimming is uncommonly beautiful. 
Hair, cropped and curled full in 
the back of the neck, and dressed 
light, and much parted on the fore- 
head : it is ornamented with a su- 
perb white ostrich-plume, at the 
base of which is an aigrette of dia- 
monds. Neck-lace, ear-rings, and 
bracelets also of diamond. White 
satin slippers, and white kid gloves. 

We have to thank the conde- 
scension of a lady of much cele- 
brity in the fashionable world, to 
whom we are indebted for a sight 
of the very elegant and tasteful 
dress from which our present print 
is designed. 


Round dress, composed of cam- 
bric, and trimmed with lace. The 
body is let in with a profusion of 
lace. Plain long sleeve, very full, 
except at the wrist, where theful- 

IS^71Era2^€r ]D>]RE,S§ , 

TlaUll. rpl. 



ness is confined by small plaits: 
the sleeve is finished by a double 
frill of lace. Over this dress is a 
pelisse of blue and white shot sars- 
net, lined with white sarsnet, and 
triinined with white satin. F(jr the 
form of the pelisse we refer our 
renders to our print. The sleeve, 
u liich is very full, is finished at the 
w rist by a cutf and bows of ribbon. 
'i'he pelisse is made half high, and 
finished at the neck by a triple fall 
of rich lace: the throat is bare. 
^Vhite satin hat, of a form uncom- 
monly novel and elegant ; it is turn- 
ed up a little in I'ront, which gives 
it an air of peculiar smartness, and 
ornamented with Mowers, disposed 
in a very novel and tasteful style. 
White kid gloves, and blue kid 
shoes. Parasol to correspond. 

We are indebted for this tasteful ■ 
dress to Mrs. Gill, of Cork-street, 
Burling ton -Gardens. 


Our fair readers will perceive 
by our print, that pelisses are still 
considered as elegant for the pro- 
menade costume : cambric walking 
dresses, profusely trin)med with 
lace, are also in high estimatiot). 
We were particularly pleased with 
one which a lady of distinction took 
with her some days ago to Paris. 
The skirt was trimmed with three 
rows of cambric Vandykes, edged 
I with narrow lace, and finished by 
a heading, which was also edged 
with lace; the heading is drawn in 
three places with fine bobbin, and 
the drawings are put very close 
together. The body is made up to 
the throat, and that part of it which 
shades the bust is composed of nar- 
row bands of caii)bric and letting- 
Vol. 11. No. nil. 

in lace, set in in the form of van- 
dykes; and the lower part of cam- 
bric only, made tight to the sha])0, 
but with three small plaits put to- 
gether, and then a plain space of 
about two inches between. A plain 
long sleeve, with lace let in byas, 
made very loose, but confined at 
the wrist by three drawings, each 
of which is edged with narrow lace. 
There is no ruff worn with this 
dress, but it is finished at the throat 
by a triple row of vandyked lace, 
exquisitely fine, but not broad, 
which falls over and leaves the 
throat bare. This dress has more 
of novelty than any we have seen 
for some time, and may be consi- 
dered as a very elejrant dishabille. 
When worn for the promenade, a 
long white lace veil is thrown over 
the bonnet, or a silk scarf over the 

The favourite walking bonnets 
are still composed of straw or Leg- 
horn. We have perceived no al- 
teration in their shapes since last 
month, but feathers have become 
much less general: our fair fashion- 
ables now wear either plain straw- 
colour ribbon, or else a bunch of 
flowers d la Fraiicoise, in tlie style 
of the very elegant bonnet which 
we have given in our print. 

Since writing the above, we have 
been favoured with a sight of the 
prettiest sununer bonnet we have 
seen for some years : it is composed 
of fine clear muslin, the crown 
round, rather broad at top, but not 
high ; the front, which is very deep, 
shades, without concealing-, the 
face, and is finished by a row of 
broad fine lace set on very full. 
The shape of the bonnet is formed 
by drawings of white satin ribbon, 
and it is ornamented at the side bv 



a bunch of roses only. We under- 
stand that it was made from one of 
her Royal Highness the Princess 
Charlotte's; it is certainly an ele- 
gant, simple, and tasteful bonnet, 
and will, we liave no doul)t, conti- 
nue a favourite during the summer 

We have little alteration to no- 
tice in the carriage costume since 
last month : scarfs are still very 
much worn, butthe Princess Mary's 
bonnet and spenser are higher in 
estimation. The spenser is singu- 
larly pretty ; it i:i composed of blue 
satin, and trimmed with an inter- 
mixture of white satin and blue 
crape, which forms the prettiest 
fancy trimming vve have ever seen. 
The back is of a moderate breadth 
and plain at top, but has a little 
fulness at the bottom of the waist: 
the sleeve, which is plain, falls \ery 
little off the shoulder: there is a 
small cape, something in the form 
of a half-handkerchief, but very 
small, which comes only to the 
shoulder in front. The bonnet is 
composed of white satin and let- 
ting-in lace; its shape is that of a 
small French bonnet, but the man- 
ner in which the lace is let in gives 
it a novel appearance: it is trim- 
med with a large bouquet of dif- 
ferent flowers, and tied untler the 
chin by a wliite satin ribbon. 

We observe tliat backs of im- 
mense brea(hh, and sleeves falling 
entirely off tlie shoulder, are ex- 
ploded ; backs are now made a mo- 
derate breadth, and the sleeve just 
touches the shoulder: this altera- 
tion is certainly for the better, be- 
cause it dis])lays the beauty of the 
shape, which has been rather dis- 
guised by the manner in whicli 
dresses were cut some monihs buck. 

In dinner dress, India muslin, 
and slight plain and striped sars- 
nets, are much in request, as is also 
spotted silk. Three-quarter high 
dresses, trimmed round the bosom 
with a triple fall of lace, or low 
dresses with the Jjclni a la Duchesse 
de Berri, are generally adopted in 
dinner dress: i\\\s Jichu, which is 
composed enllrely of lace, conves 
nearly to the throat, and is finished 
by a double quilling of lace. Long 
sleeves are very generally adopted 
in dinner dress. Trimmings have 
not varied since last montli. 

The patronage afforded by our 
illustrious princesses to British 
manufactures is an example well 
worthy of the imitation of the no- 
bility; it is at present partially, 
and we hope will soon be generally, 

As our fair readers may be gra- 
tified by a description of the dress 
worn by her Royal Highness the 
Princess Mary on her nuptials, we 
subjoin an account of it. The dress 
is composed of silver tissue, su- 
perbly trimmed with two flounces 
of scolloped lama, worked in pine- 
apple pattern, each flounce headed 
with three weltings of lama-work. 
The body and sleeves, which are 
worked to correspond, are trimmed, 
in a style perfectly novel, with beau- 
tiful Brussels point lace. The robe 
of silver tissue is lined with white 
satin, and trimmed round with a 
most superb border of lama- work, 
which corresponds with the dress; 
it fastens at the waist by a superb 
diamond clasp. Her Royal High- 
ness's diamonds were peculiarly- 
fine; her head-dress in particular, 
which consisted of a superb wreath 
of diamonds, was much admired ; 
and the general effect of her dr^ss 



was strikingly beautiful. In the 
choice of her bridal atiire, her Roy- 
al Highness has displayed that elc- 
gaiit siinj)liii;.y of taste for which 
she iias always been distiriguished, 
and though the materials were the 
most magnificent thiitcould be [)ro- 
curcd, there was nothing glaring, 
nothing heavy in the totif-ensemble, 
which was at once tasteful, elegant, 
and suj)crb. 

Full dress, except what is worn 
at court, which, in honour of her 
Royal Higlmess the Princess Ma- 
ry's nuptials, is peculiarly brilliant, 
is at present simply elegant, rather 
than magnificent, ^\'hite net, rich- 
ly embroidered either in white or 
coloured silk, is in very high esti- 
mation ; white satin, trimmed with 
blond, and white and coloured 
crapes and gauzes, arc also in re- 
quest. Embroidery is a great deal 
worn, as are also painted gauze or 
crape trimmings ; and we have seen 
some elegant ball dresses orna- 
mented with wreaths of myrtle 
leaves, composed of green crape. 
Long sleeves still continue ex- 
tremely fashionable in full dress; 
it is true they are always composed 
of crape, lace, or gauze, but how- 
ever light the material, the}- are 
certainly not appropriate to full 
dress. When the sleeve is worn 

short it is always very full, and in 
general of a noderate length. 'l"'here 
is no other alteration in the make 
of dresses, than those ue have al- 
ready noticed in speaking of morn- 
ing dress. The royal brace ( onti- 
nucs as much a favourite as ever. 

The Princess Mary's mob, com- 
posed of white lace, and ornament- 
ed with fancy flowers, is in the 
highest estimaiion for half-dress. 
This very becoming cap is cut in 
such a manner as to display all the 
front hair, which is dressed in 'igjit 
loose curls on the forehead. Tiie 
ends, whicli fasten under i;;e chin, 
are very narrow, as is also the lace 
border, which is set on plain, ex- 
cept on the forehead, where it is 
very full. This elegant cao is tl.e 
only novelty in half-drci^s since 
last month. 

There has been no change in 
hair-dressing, nor in ornaments for 
the hair in full dress, since our last 
I In half- dress jewellery, we o!)- 
■ serve that white cornelian orna- 
ments, ii.iermixed wit'.i gold, aie 
in very high esLimation. There 
j has been no change in full-dress 
I jewellery since last monih. 
I Fashionable colours for the month 
j are, green, celestial blue, straw-co- 
i lour, pale pink, and hlac. 



Perhaps no furniture is more i colours, produced a charm th;\t 

decorative and graceful than that 
of which draijeries form a consi- 

brought them into high repute, 
but eventually occasioned their 

derablc part : the easy disposition ;. use in so liberal a dfgree, as in 
of the folds of curtains and otlicr j many instances to bave clothed 
hangings, the sweep of the lines up the ornamented walls, and in 
composing their forms, and the \\ others they have been substituted 
harmonious combinations- of their il entirely for their more genuine 




decorations, by which the rooms 
obtained tiie air of a mercer's or 
draper's shop in full display of its 
merchandize, rather than the well- 
imagiued and correctly designed 
apartment of a British edifice: in- 
deed, to so great an excess was 
the system of ornamental finishing 
by drapories carried, that it be- 
came tlie usual observation of a 
celebrated amateur in this way, 
that he would be quite satisfied if 
a well-proportioned barn was pro- 
vided, and he would in a week 
convert it, by such means, into a 
drawinsj-room of the first style and 
fashion. So lon<;- as novelty fa- 
voured the application, this redun- 
dance was tolerated; but time has 

brought the uses of these draperies 
to their proper office of conform- 
ing to the original design, consist- 
ing of those architectural combi- 
nations that possess a far greater 
beauty, dignity, and variety, than 
draperies are capable of affording. 
The annexed plate represents part 
of a dining-room, in which cur- 
tains are so introduced, that the 
forms of the piers, imposts, and 
architraves, are not concealed by 
their projections, but in which 
they most elegantly occupy the 
station and quantity of space that 
properly belong to them. This 
furniture has been executed by 
Mr. G. Bullock. 


Mr. AcKEiiMAJ^N will publish, in 
the early part of August, the whole- 
length Portrait of H. S. H. the 
Prince of Saxe-Coburg, engraved 
by Mayer, after the picture paint- 
ed by A. Chalon. That of H. R. H. 
the Princess Charlotte is in great 
forwardness, and is expected to 
be ready in the course of Septem- 

Mr. Ackermann has also in great 
forwardness two larpfc views of the 
Exterior of the Royal Exchange, 
from Cornhill, and the Bank of 
England, from the corner of Sweet- 
ing's- alley. They will appear, 
beauiifully coloured, in the be- 
ginning ui" August. 

Tiie Memoira of Mr. Sheridan, 
drawn from original documents, 
and illustrated by his own corre- 
spondence and that of his friends, 
with t;ie hititory ol" his family, wiij 
appear in tlie course of the pre- 
sent month, from the pen of Dr. 

Jlie Spanish Dictionary of New- 
man greatly improved by Mr. 
Brown, which has been so long in 
the press, is now nearly completed. 
The number of words added ex- 
ceeds three thousand, including 
all the terms of art, manufactures, 
and commerce, many of which are 
to be found in no other dictionary 

The author of the History of the 
House of Romanof, &c. has in the 
press, Thoughts on the Poor Laws, 
and on the improvement of the Con- 
dition and Morals of the Poor. 

On Thursday, July 11, the lord 
mayor, aldermen, and common 
council, with a great number of 
the nobility and gentry, met at 
Guildhall to witness the presenta- 
tion oi' the freedom of the city, in 
boxes made of heart of oak, of 
the value of 100 guineas, to the 
Dukes of Kent, Sussex, and Glou- 
cester, and the Prince Coburg, 



After the performance of the ce- 
remony of being sworn in, and the 
freedoms and boxes were present- 
ed, in the common hall, the cham- 
berlain conducted the royal visit- 
ors to liis parlour, to see the du- 
plicates of tlie honorary freedoms 
and thanks for a succession of 
years. The writer of them being 
in the room, the chamberlain, in 
his usual handsome manner, was 
pleased to introduce Mr. Tomkins 
in terms higbly respectable and 
gratifying-. 7'he Duke of Sussex, 
after many observations, asked if 
till' freedoms in that room were all 
written by one hand, and how ma- 
ny years from the commencement r 
When his royal highness was told 
by Mr. Tomkins ever since 1776, 
he replied, " You must have felt 

youjself very happy in having had 
it in your power to transmit to 
posterity, in so ingenious and taste- 
ful a manner, records so honour- 
able to this country, and to the 
distinguished and revered cha- 
racters who have so nobly exert- 
ed their exalted talents in its ser- 
vice." The Dukes of Kent and 
Gloucester, and Prince of Coburg, 
each expressed their surprise " at 
the beautiful variety displayed in 
the designs, and the powers of the 
pen ;" and concluded " by con- 
gratulating the cliamberlain in 
possessing the most interesting 
room, to a commercial city, in all 
Europe." There are fifty of these 
splendid ornaments, chronologi- 
cally arranged. The first six writ- 
ten were unfortunately burnt. 



A Poem, hy Rli7..\ vS. Fkancis, Author of 
"Sir WiLiuERT Dt \Va veulky, 01- The 
Bridal Eve." 

The clioicT, reireal otTsadore 

Was an okl and mouldeiing tdwer: 

In rude heaps, rough IragmtriUs lay. 

And broken columns strew'd the way ; 

Whde rapid DcMvveiil'.s dashing wave 

Rertecitd in his silver tide 
The pile his waters loved to lave, 

With antitjue arches' ruiu'd pride. 
Reclining on a pedestal, 

That once a war-plum'd statue bore. 
Seeming to mark the river's swell. 

Or gaze upon ih' indented shore. 
With musing air the maiden stood; 
Yet thought slie not of Derweni's flood, 
Nor mark'il his winding hank so crieon; 
Its varied bfauues \vere unseen. 
Her radiant lucks of waving gold. 

Floated npiin the buoyant gale. 
Which first displaced tlit graceful fold, 

Then wafted yif her light-wove veil; 

idc, "^ 

'' . C 

spied. ^ 

No friendly shade remain'd to hide, 
Ofjoy and love, the vei ineil tide. 
When Armyn's graceful form she sp 
He view'd her o'er with kindling eye. 
Then eagfci spoke with ardoiir high; 
" What secret cause, O maid divine! 
Could make that orient blush ? 
And wlience tlu' brilliant beam-i that shine 
Within those tv»i -charming eyes ? 
' Tavus not didain, .-ay was it joy ? 
My fears relieve, or hopes destrcy !" 
Confused, surprised, tlie you; h fid fair 
Bliish'd as his tale of love he t<d<l: 
No moie he wore a brow of care, 
.A brighter future ."-eemed unroll'd; 
For all deceis all art above. 
The blooming inaiden oun'd her love. 
Then Armyn vovv'd, " Tliy roiling tide, 
Oh! rnp'd Derwent, flows away, 
And yonder towci's st;\!ely pride 
Now sinks in ruinous d(c;iv: 
But, oh! my love shall fiinily stem 
The tide ol ili, or stream o* w ^e, 
And,asy >n watch-ligiil'stlu.teringname, 



Thro' life's dark scenes shall brightly 
t;lo\v ; 
And ne'er will absence have the power 

To make my love for thee decay. 
Yet, oh! dear beauteous Isadore, 

No more at. Glenrnore can I stay — 
To-morrow I must hence.'' — The maid 

Averted then her tear-dew'd face; 
He sdii.hed Ikt iear.^, and hush'd her grief, 
Bnatlied hopes that time would bring 

And clafe|)'d her in a f nd embrace. 
With blushes, buisliiig from his arms. 

She bade a hasiy sweet farewell; 

Then, with a siiih that seemed to tel! 
All love's regrets and fend alarms. 

As shoots a silver s'ar its ray, 

When dariinii ihrough the sky. 

Its falling ^lnries glancing play — 
Friiin the rapt miiistrel's gazing e} e 

The beauteous maiden fled away ! 

Canto i. 


Few were the dames that could defy 
The radiance of young Edward's eye. 
Where brightly arch, or gaily wild. 
The playful Loves encurtain'd smiled. 
Oh ! who could meet his glances warm. 
Or view his tall majestic form; 
Could mark that fonn's attractive grace, 
And scan the wonders of his face. 
That t() brave Edward could be cold, 
ir fuim'd of less than icV iTiould ? 
But while his words in ardent flow. 
Gave to her cheek a livelier glow. 
Fair Isadore's cold air repress'd 
The hopes which flutler'd in his breast. 
Yet not of ice ihe maiden's heart, 
Well kni'W the fair Love's potent art ; 
Kemetnbrance of the minsti-el's charms, 
The prince of power to please disarms, 
His image still triuntphant reigns. 
And entpiie o'er her heart maintains. 

Canto iv. 


As once, wc read, on Ilium's sacred 

In pomp of power, the queen of battles 

With her own hand increased the heaps 

of siain. 
And of Troy's chieftains spilt the bravest 

blood : 
So Anjou^s princess in the fight appears, 
Nohostshedreadsjiiohero'sarm she fears; 
Like Pallas self, great Margaret seems 

to stand. 
The falchion waving in her lifted hatid; 
And o'er her brow, with snowy feathers 

The beamy helm in shining pomp was 

"On, my brave troops !" with thrilling 

voice she cries. 
While fiery ardour darted from her eyes; 
"Let the Hed Rose, once more triumphant, 

The final downfall of its rival pale; 
Let Lancaster's deep wrongs your zeal 

Itjflame your foice, and kindle all your 

fire ! 
For Margaret leads you, in whose daunt- 
less breast 
No coward dread, but hope and valour 

Her shouting host her high behest obey. 
And boldly mingle in the deathful fray. 

. Canto su 

By Edward's youthful graces won, 
Whole thousands to his standard run ; 
Where'er he turns his radiant eye. 
It lights the flame of loyalty; 
The monarch's cr.ptivating smile 
Could thousands from his foe beguile. 
His graceful form his armour cased, 
Around him was the corslet laced; 
His cuisses, greaves, and shield were gold. 
While pearls emboss'd the baldric's fold; 
His helm reflects a dazzling ray. 
And blazing glories round him play, 
" And let the Rose of York," he cried, 
'' Now lear'd aloft in snowy pride. 
With crimson blush, ere long, be dye 
The blush of conquest let it be — 
Now fight for York and victory !" 

Cunto vi. 

•led, "^ 

ycd ;0 

L. Harrison, Piiiitcr, 373, Strand, 







Manufactures^ <§-c. 


Vol. II. 

Septembeu 1, 1816. 

N^ IX. 


Gardkn-Seats . . . . 
Banqueting-House, Whitehall 
Ladies' Half Buess . 

Evening Duess 

A SMALL Bed .... 
Pattern for Needle-Work. 




Arcliifectural Hints. — Garden-Seats . . 12?; 

Architectural Review. — Retnarks on .St. 
Mary le Bone New Churcli — Eno;|isli 
Prejudices against Public Buildings . loG 

Chronological Survey of the most eminent 
Artists to the Conmenccment of the 
Sixteenth Century. — Sculptors; Pe- 
riod in which they flourished -, princi- 
pal Works and Merits 131 


On the Composition of Knamel ; White, 
Purple, Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Vio- 
let, &.C. 135 


Anecdotes of Marshal dc Biron . . . 138 
Anecdote of the Due de Guinea . . 139 


The Advantages of a Trip to Paris exrni- 

plitied 140 

Before and after Marriage, or Matrimonial 

Uisappointnients of Solomon Sapient 143 
The Fashionable Match Maker (conli- 

■nueilj 145 

The Lauijer of the smallest Deviation 

from Truth illustrated. By Auglstls 


The Female Tattler. — No. IX 154 

Description of the Vjlley ofChamouui l6o 
Description of the Island ofSark . . . 16^ 
Account ofthe Banqueting- House, White- 
hall ' 165 


Klengicl's Fantasia jtJG 

Bishop's " The Chough and Crow to roost 

are gone" jfiy 

" The Winds whistle cool" ib. 

.Mozart's Theme, with Mayer's Va- 
riations ii,. 

Grimani's The Brunswick Waltzes . ibi 
Kerry's Rondo for the Piano-Forte . il», 

BURRoWES's Third Air i^. 

Drouet's Third Concerto for the Flute 1G9 
Sanderson's Study of the Bow and Fin- 
ger- Board ili. 

Sharp's Military Ditertimentu for the 
Piano-Foite 170 


Conflagration of Moscow, from Ja.MES's 
Travels jji 


Ladies' Half Dress 176 

Evening Dress 16. 

General Observations on Fashion and 

Dress ib. 

French Female Fa<^hions 17s 

Fashionable Furniture. — A small Bed . 183 



The Stag and the Biamblc, a fable . . 195 
Fairy Scenes lag 

L Harrison, Printer, 373, Strand. 

i-if* 3 



Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Coniposers, are requested to transmit 
announcements of works which they may have in hand, and we shall cheerfully insert 
them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense. New musical publications also, if 
a copy be addressed to the publisher, shall be duly noticed in our Review; and extracts 
from new books, of a moderate length and of an interesting nature, suitable for our 
Selections, will be acceptable. 

Celinda shall have a place in our next Nu7nber. , . ^ ^ 

We shall feel great pleasure in promoting the plan of Behevolus, as far as lies in 
our poiver. 

The narrative of Observator's intended Tour would no doubt prove highly ac- 

A. M.'s communication is more suitable for a Repository of Scandal than the ,., 
Repository of Arts. 

We are not a little proud of Gonstaatia's good opinion, but the publication of 
her letter would be no evidence of our modesty. , 

' ,. 


'ir>':{. «■> ■: ' j-^- 'ft J/ -i-»v«W 
We bave to apologize for an error which escaped us in the Heceipt for Making Gooseberry 
Wine in our last number. Instead of adding' " two or three boltleH of brandy to every ga'Hoii Oi 
of the wine" (as directed p. 73. col. 1. lines 17, 18, 19), (bat quantity of spirit should be addedr 4 
to every twenty gallons of the wine. , 

Persons who reside abroad, and who wish t«> be sup plieil wUb this Work every Montb as, 
(lublished, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New-York, Halifax, Quebec, and 
to any part of the West Indies, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Thounhill, of the General 
Post-Olfice, at No. 21, Sherborne- Lane ; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, or 
any Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Seujeant, of the General 
Post-Office, at No. 22, Sherborne-laiTe ; aud to the Cape of Good Hope, or any part of the 
East Indies, by Mr. GuY, at the East-India House. The money to be paid at the time of 
subscribing, for either 3, 6, 9, or ] 3 months. 

•ib«of|g97io> 9fo«i ■■] -9V9 » Wt hii'Miboimi ilUaolaeo^o 

i^iy'sns siom bae -uooaa sdt sJornotq oj baootJno:. 

'nvr ni ^ni (i^g^ ;^ ,,;^,„ ^^j.^, ^^^j -^^ 

*'ir,nB 3ih 

26 ,8i3bB-^i < 2JB9g bt)ti nrn^f bv, fbd) bt5nr«lda siuO-m 

1 iBiot u i.> ... r>8laasaas^d ihsiiGY 

'^ 11 oVL 1\ \o^ 

^i-. ?.^%»1 






Manufactures^ ^c. 


Vol. II 

JSf.ptembeh 1, 1816. 





When the style that prevailed 
in gardening seemed to depend on 
geometric skill, and the walks, the 
shrubs, and the parterres were dis- 
posed with all the formal accuracy 
of the line and compass, it w^as 
considered that stone terraces, bal- 
lustrades, facades, and temples, 
were very suitable embellishments 
to such scenery ; tiiey were pro 

imitation. The business of the 
landscape-gardener was then to 
disencumber his ground of such 
objects, and to give strong effect 
to particular points of view com- 
posed of distant scenery, which 
led to the present greatly improv- 
ed and highly esteemed practice of 
landscape-gardening : which, how- 
ever beautiful, is yet perhaps a 

fusely employed to decorate every little " unfurnished," if the term 
garden that professed to claim the i may so be used; and partakes. 

least pretension to tasteful cultiva- 
tion, and they certainly formed the 
chief attraction in them. Much of 
this fashion being abandoned for 
one in which the mason only was 
less employed, and where the gar- 
dener yet pursued his linear and 

therefore, too mucli of the bare and 
bald effect that has long been com- 
plained of as prevailing in all the 
constituent parts of our residences. 
Rustic seats, bowers, root-houses 
and heath-houses, and such small 
buildings, now, though certainly 

symmetrical notions of grace and i very sparingly, decorate our gar- 
elegance, vases and grou[)S of fi- dens, when propriety would admit 
gures, in fantastical shapes, were || something in substitution for them, 
occasionally introduced for" eye- jl more corresponding with the cha- 

traps," as they were called, and 
continued to promote the encou- 
ragement of our lead-mines, if not 
of true taste, until the simple, yet 
varied, beauties of scenic and rural 
nature obtained their well-merited 
Vol. JL No. IX. 

racter of the place and of the scene, 
and more analogous to classic art. 
Entertaining this opinion, but fall- 
ing in with the general practice, 
the annexed engraving of garden- 
seats is presented to our readers, as 



claiming a share of novelty, tbjit 
perhaps may be allowed to them, 
both on account of the designs 
themselves, and the peculiarity of 
their construction. The form of 
the upper design is in imitation of 
those buildings in India that were 
frequently erected for monumental 
or devotional purposes, and very 
nearly resemble an umbrella: the 
stem and beams of it are intended 
to be made of light work in iron, 
and the roof filled in with copper 
sheeting. The stem being fasten- 
ed firmly into the ground, the wind 
would have very little effect upon 
it, particularly as it would possess 
a certain degree of flexibility ; and 
with very little trouble the whole 
might be removed from one spot 
to another, and there fixed as in 
the first instance. The design be- 
neath this is of the marquee. cha- 
racter, and the covering is sup- 
posed to be of such cloth as is ge- 
nerally used for them, the devices 
being either woven in the cloth 
itself, or painted upon it. This is 
supported upon an iron framing, 
and from which it is farther ex- 
tended by cords. By preparing 
sockets in several parts of the 

grounds, so fitted to the stem or 
the upright as to receive it, the 
whole might be removed and fixed 
in a few minutes; and in winter it 
could be put away, as the ribs of 
the top might be prepared to fold 
into a small compass, and the co- 
vermg packed up as is usual with 
officers' tents. 


I An opportunity offers for pre- 
I senting our readers with some im- 
portant observations on the disease 
in buih'ings termed the Dry Rot, 
particularly as relates to its causes, 
prevention, and cvre. As they are 
' the result of long study, and itap- 
! pears of very extensive application 
I in the business of exterminating 
j this great evil, it is presumed they 
will be acceptable as '* Hints ;" and 
I although not strictly correspond- 
ing with the original intention of 
! this paper, yet, as they will not 
materially interfere with it, and 
promise to be useful towards the 
well-being of much that may be 
executed from its suggestions, it 
is purposed that they shall form 
part of the Architectural Hints in 
the next number of the Repository. 

No. VIII. 


It happens, fortunately for the ii of the devotion of their inhabitants 

pious reputation of the west end j, to the Christian faith on the east- 

of London, that the select vestry i ern side of the Edgware-road. 

of the parish of St. Mary le Bone j; Until the present new church was 

have at length ventured to erect a 
steeple: for from Islington, through 
the extensive and populous parish 
of St. Pancras, and the more popu- 
lous and wealthy one in question, 
there was lately no such evidence 

erected, both parishes were with- 
out this index of theif best hope, 
which, pointing upwards, seems to 
offer an assurance of its being di- 
rected to that place to which life is 
but a transitory journey. A spec- 



tator, used to contemplate the ca- 
pitals of Christian countries, ob- 
serving the total absence of such 
manifestation of our religion in 
this part of London, might well be 
impressed with the dread, that its 
inhabitants were abandoned to the 
state of conscious unworthiness, 
that abyss of despair in which our 
immortal l)ard has pictured the soul 
of the wretched Beaufort, who, be- 
ing conjured to raise his hand in 
testimony of his expectation of 
future bliss, is said to have died, 
and made no sisrn. 

The devotional feelintis of the 
inhabitants of a parisl) are symbol- 
ized by its church, which, on eve- 
ry account, should correspond with 
the important purpose to which it 
is dedicated: it is a building as 
necessary to the poor as to the 
rich, ;;nd every one who respects 
the advantages which result from 
piety and order, and wt-ighs well 
the influence of example and pub- 
lic t.^stimonies of respect for reli- 
gion upon the manners of society, 
will ever be ready to afford his 
proportional contribution to erect 
a parish church of proper magni- 
tude and dignity ; for the contem- 
plation of it justly reminds us of 
the duties we owe to God, to our 
fellow-creatures, and to ourselves. 
There the poor and the afflicted 
find a refuge, and comfort and con- 
solation, which give them strength 
to bear, or vigotir to overcome, 
their sutTerings ; it is there that t!ie 
vain, the proud, and ambitious are 
awakened from their feverish delu- 
sions, and become assured, that in 
the presence of him before whom 
they stand, the distinctions of rank 
are only marked by the increasing 
danger that waits on temporal great- 

ness. In the service of the church 
all stations are equalized ; the same 
font is the threshold of divine fa- 
vour to the infant of the meanest 
as of the highest birth; at the same 
altar the pledges of mutual affec- 
tion are exchanged by the poor and 
by the rich; and here, without dis- 
tinction, they kneel and offer up to 
Heaven, in equal communion, that 
purity of heart which is its only 
acceptable tribute ; and when the 
grave is prepared to receive its 
alike regarded tenants, the same 
service consigns them to the dust. 
Ai no time, then, should a parish 
be without a church of proper mag- 
nitude, and least of all in times 
when extraordinary prosperity has 
increased it from a village to the 
population of a great city. On this 
account the want of a decent parish 
church was long the cause of de- 
served censure to the vestry of St. 
Mary le Bone ; and a long struggle 
of opposite views had nearly proved 
fatal to it in this instance, for the 
present building was originally in- 
tended for a chapel, and so pro- 
ceeded with even to the erection of 
a turret, when it was re-solved to 
translate it to a dignity of higher 
rank: the turret was consequently 
taken down, and the steeple erect- 
ed in its stead. This material alter- 
ation of t!ie first plan of necessity 
involved the architect in consider- 
able perplexity and great diflicul- 
ties, which must be received in ex- 
tenuation of several deficiencies of 
proportion that occur in some parts 
of the building. As an account -of 
the churches of this parish may be 
desirable, it is here inserted. 

" About the year 1400, the village 
of Mary Bone, as it was then called, 
going to decay, and its church of 
S 2 



St. John the Evangelist beinlgalone 
by the side of the highway, it was 
robbed of its books, vestments, 
bells, images, and other decora- 
tions ; on which the parishioners 
petitioned the Bishop of London 
for leave to take down the old and 
erect a new church, where they 
had some time before built a cha- 
pel ; and tiiat structure being dedi- j 
cated to tlie Virgin Mary, received 
the additional epithet of Borne, 
from its vicinity to the neighbour- 
ing brook or bourne." A writer of 
1761 remarks : " This village, if 
it may be still called by that name, 
is almost joined by new buildings 
to the metropolis; and the new 
buildings this way are now increas- 
ing so very fast, that it will un- 
doubtedly in a very short time be 
quite joined, and become a part of 
it. The old church, which was a 
mean edifice, was pulled down, 
and a new one erected in 1741." 
This structure, in its turn, being 
found to be too small and mean, also 
is purposed to be pulled down 
when the new church is completed, 
of which a description will be gi- 
ven, and its architecture examined, 
in the succeeding number of thi* 
Review. — — ■ — 

^;.^, TECTURAL RIiV,IEWsJ=j~ol 

Sir, — Having recently read j'pur 
strictures upon certain public build- 
ings now erecting in this metropo- 
lis, I beg to offer a few remarks on 
your plan, which, as far as I can 
discover, will be useful to persons, 
like myself, who wish to be put in 
a way to appreciate the merits and 
demerits of great architectural 
works; an object that can only be 
accomplished by an analysis like 
this, issuing from the pen of an in- 

telligent professor of architecture. 
The liberality, candour, in\i.\ good 
sense manifestedin these strictures, 
must influence the public mind, 
and ultimately assist in correcting 
the national ignorance, and nation- 
al failing, of which 1 am about to 

The delight which my mind de- 
rived from the contemplation of or- 
namentalbuildingwhen I wasaboy, 
without any one to teach me this 
feeling, and without the pleasure 
of an associate to participate there- 
in, has flattered me into theopinion, 
that I am naturally a lover of the 
beauties of architecture. Doubt- 
less there are many who, unac- 
quainted with the principles of that 
art, derive great pleasure from the 
same source: indeed the feeling 
mind has ever been impressed with 
tlie imposing grandeur and subli- 
mity of architecture. -•' 
In other arts a man may be al-' 
lowed to j^udge, in some degree at 
least, of their merit upon certain 
principles; for they are either great- 
ly governed by feeling, as in music, 
or have their prototypes in nature, 
as in poetry, painting, and sculp- 
ture : yet amateurs of these arts 
bow to the opinion of the profes- 
sors, and usually speak of their re- 
spective performances with diffir 
dence, ever ready to acknowledge 
and praise the merit of their works. 
But not so with architecture, which 
owns no prototype in nature, being 
purely an affair of invention, re- 
sulting from the study of abstract 
beauty, a due consideration of fit- 
ness and convenience, and ground- 
ed upon a profound knowledge of 
science. Of such an art, it oddly 
happens (in England at least), that 
men, without the least considera- 



tion of its ahstruse ground-work, 
tliiuk themselves coiupetenl to cri- 
ticise the most extensive building, 
and to censure all its j3arts, witii the 
authority of a scientific judge— 
with a prejudice too of the most 
unpatriotic malice, or indiscrimi- 
nately condemning every public 
work. «b oiil 

On all other occasions an Enof- 
lishman evinces a national pride, 
in his endeavour to enumerate a 
greater nnmher of illustrious men 
of intellect in all professions, than 
other countries can boast: but 
with the architects all is wrong; 
every work they accomplish, eve- 
ry scheme they project, is the sub- 
ject of general censure and abuse: 
no sooner is the ground cleared 
for a building, than a thousand 
voices are raised against the site; 
and scarcely are the foundations 
laid, wheti a crowd may be dai- 
ly seen appealing to each other 
on the ignorance of the design; 
as the superstructure is raised, the 
clamour increases — inch by inch, 
and foot by foot — by those whose 
sagacity in building holds no com- 
parison with that of .the beayer or 
the bee. '> ^iw^iums :}sy sif;! 

How this disposition tocorvdemn 
the projectors and designers of 
public buildings has arisen, I am 
at a loss to discover; for nothing 
is more common, than for an Eng- 
lishman to quarrel with a French- 
man upon the superiority of Lon- 
don to Paris in architectural points 
of view ; nay, this national feeling 
is carried so far, that I liave heard 
those contend for the buildings of 
London who have never been at Pa- 
ris : yet, among each other we are 
constantly reprobating what has 
been done, what is doing, and even 
that which is projecting. 

We find it the fashion for our 
contemporaries to praise our Gothic 
l)uildin<i$ even with enthusiasm: 
this, however, can be done with- 
out compliment to the living ; yet 
that the beauties of Gothic archi- 
tecture are neither felt, nor appre- 
ciated, may be inferred from the 
spirit that has been manifested for 
ages, and still exists, for the de- 
struction of its venerable remains, 
and frequently by the wretched and 
tasteless alterations that have been 
made in our cathedrals and at our 
universities. This is the more re- 
markable, as the superintendence 
of these matters is vested in the 
members of that holy fraternity, 
to whose predecessors we are in- 
debted for the stupendous edifices 
that adorn our cities, and which 
reflect such credit upon the genius 
o( our forefathers. 

But with regard to the modern 
biiililings, even including the ca- 
thedral of St. Paul's, our self-taught 
critics in architecture are constant- 
ly pointing to faults in all its parts, 
which prejudice and ighorartce 
alone can discover, and which are 
believed to exist, because profes- 
sors of the art have hitherto been 
too indifferent or too idle to con- 
fute them. 

Foreigners, who understand these 
nhatters better than ourselves, think 
more favourably of the talent of 
English architects. Ganova, the 
celebrated sculptor, oti his recent 
visit to the British metropolis, 
among^ther objects of his research, 
wenttb view St. PatiTs. He .vas ac- 
companied by a certain nobleman. 
Whetvhe arrived at the top of Lud- 
gftte Hill, and the grand facade of 
the metropolitan cathedral met his 
eye, he exclaimed, "What a grand, 
what a beautiful structure!*' His 



lordship, surprised at the remark, 
and bearing in mind the praises he 
had heard of St. Peter's, asked, 
*'What,can you admire this after the 
great church at Rome?" — "Yes," 
said the candid Venetian; *'it is 
far more beautiful than that church. 
It is ti»e most elegant structure in 
the world ; although I do not like 
the turrets." Here we are furnish- 
ed with an honest opinion of St. 
Paul's by an enlightened foreigner, 
whose j udicious eye saw its defects, 
but whose profound judgment of 
the sublime and beautiful led him 
to pay so honourable a testimony 
to British talent. 

With the English metropolitan, 
the healthiness of London and 
Westminster is the common theme 
of exultation ; Parisand Edinburgh 

grandeur of the town. The Stratid 
or Waterloo Bridge, which will 
grant facilities to commerce, and 
augment the convenience for inter- 
course with both sides of the water, 
as well as do away in no small degree 
the danger incident to the crowded 
narrow streets of the city ; this 
Strand Bridge, which will be the 
wonder of the world, England ex- 
cepted, which sees no wonder in 
that native talent which can con- 
struct nine arches of one hundred 
and twenty feet sj)an each, and 
which embrace by continuity one 
of theiinest rivers in Europe — this 
bridge is spoken of with a shrug, 
and tlie share-holders, for encou- 
raging it, whose public spirit me- 
rits every honour, are lauglied at 
as half-witted speculators, tricked 

as commonly the subjects of his jj out of their money by useless 
abuse. The stenches and filth of j| scliemes. With too many, alas I 
both these cities excite his animad- j a spirited projector is stigmatized 
version and contempt; whilst the as an impostor and a cheat, and a 

civil engineer as a fool 1 

sweetness and salubrity of his own 
crowded city he ascribes to the con- 
venience of its common sewers. 
Yet in this genuine but unaccount- 
able spirit of inconsistency, now ; 
that a sewer, more stupendous than 
the cloaca of Rome, has lately been i 
sunk, to relieve the town, increased 
to double its size, of its filth, the 
projector and builder of this migh- 
ty subterraneous channel is abused 
as one who has rendered an injury 
to the public, who, instead of be- 
ing rewarded with a civic crown, 
as he deserves, would be devoted by 
his infatuated neighbours to ruin 
and disgrace! 

,^ Another subject of gratulation 
appears among this prejudiced class 
of science-haters, upon the failure 
of the grand schemes for the im- 
provement both of the utility and 

From the south-west of this mighty 
metropolis, proceeding from Pall- 
Mall to the north, nothing can be 
more in convenient or worse planned 
than the intervening streets. The 
greatest thoroughfares for carriages 
are the narrowest, dirtiest, and 
sharpest-angled streets. To remedy 
such inconvenience, to adorn the 
town, and to render it more healthy, 
a most judicious plan has been pro- 
posed, to open an avenue from Carl- 
ton-House, to cross Piccadilly and 
Oxford-street ; a work that, should 
it be finished, will form the finest 
street in the world. This is pro- 
posed to be done without calling 
upon the public to defray any part 
of the expense. Would foreigners 
believe, were they to be told, that 
the thinking people of England, 


the people of the very town ac- 
knowledging and even murmuring 
at the inconvenience of the nar- 
row streets, and complaining of the 
danger of carriages driving ra- 
pidly through them, set to work 
might and main to prevent this 
improvement? Yet it is true. The 

Prince Regent, the government, 
the projector, and all concerned, 
are abused, vilified, and even exe- 
crated for their wickedness and folly 
in times like these, or in any times, 
for even thinking of the accom- 
plishment of such a thing! 



C Continued from p. 11. J 
SCULPTORS ; PERIOD IN M HIGH ;[ copal church of Arezzo 


Renghieri, of Bologna, 1120. 
at Bologna and Aniiochia. 

BoNNA.NO, of Pisa, 1 1 70, Works in the 
cathedral, and columns of the hanging 
tov\er, at Pisa. 

TommaJ^o, of Pisa, 1 170. Works in the I 
caihedral, and columns of the hanging 
tower, of Pi»a. 

NiccoLA DA Pisa, of Pisa, 1250. Works 
in the cathedral, the Battisterio, and 
Campo Santo, at Pisa. Works in the 
caihedral of Oryieto. He began the 
shrine of St. Dominic at Bologna. Se- 
veral German sculptors were engaged 
at the same time with him upon the 
cathedral of Orvieto, but he far ex- 
celled them, as well as all those of his 
own country. His works there repre- 
sent paradise and hell in alto relievo. 
He purified Christian sculpture of Go- 
thic coarseness, and gave greater free- 
dom of movement to the statues. He 
chiefly studied the ancient Greek 
basso relievos upon the sarcophagi in 
the Campo Santo at Pisa. 

Giovanni da Pisa, of Pisa, 1280. The 
tombs of the Popes Urban IV. Martin 
IV. and Benedict XI. at Pevugia. The 
high altar in the church of St, Domi- 
pic at Bologna. Tiie pulpit in the 
cathedral of Pisa. A marble table, 
valued at 30,000 guilders, in the epis- 

He conti- 
nued to cultivate the improved style 
begun by his father Niccola da 

Giotto, of Vespigniano, in Tuscanv, 
1280, Various crucifixes. Works at 
Florence and Avignon. 

Fiiccio, of Florence, 1280, Tomb of 
the Queen of Cyprus, in marble, and 
adorned wiili many figures, in the 
church of St. Francis, at Assisi. 

Marchione, of Florence, 1280, Varir 
ons works in the churches and con- 
vents in and near Arezzo ami Bologna, 

PiETRO Di Stefani, of Naplcs, 1280. 
Tomb of Pope Innocent IV. in the 
episcopal church, and many crucifixes 
and saints in other churches and con- 
vents at Naples. Many tombs in the 
same city, and particularly in some of 
the conventual churches. 

Maugheriione, of Arezzo, 1280, Tomb 
of Pope Gregory X. in the caihedial 
of Arezzo. Several saints and cruci- 
fixes in the same town. He was dis- 
tinguished for his improvement in the 
style «if his predecessors, and the in- 
vention of gilding. 

Ramo di Pacanello, of Italy, 1290. 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 

Gualterio, of Italy, 1290. Many- 
works in the caihedral of Orvieto. 
Crucifixes in wood and marble. 

GiAcoMO, of the abbey of S. Salvatore, 
1290. Crucifixes and basso relievos 


in wood. Many works in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

Roland, of Bruges, 1290. Crucifixes, 
saints, ornaments, especially foliage, 
in wood. Many works in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

Don Pietko, of Spain, 1290. Many 
works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Ugolino, of Casiello, in Tuscany, 1290. 
Many works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Andrea Ugolino, called Pisano, of 
Pisa, 1300. Many statues for the ca- 
thedral of Florence, and for the fa9;ide 
of the church of St. Mark at Venice. 
The old metal gates to the church of 
S.Giovanni at Florence. He was par- 
ticularly distinguished for his per- 
formances in bronze, which surpassed 
all those of his predecessors. 

Alemanno, of S. Salvatore, 1300. Many 
crucifixes in marble and bronze in 
Tuscany. Various works in the ca- 
thedral of Orvieto. 

Paolo, of S. Salvatore, 1300. Various 
woiks in the cathedral of Orvieto 

Mars L PINO, of Arezzo, 1300. Many 
works in churches and convents at 
Arezzo, but especially in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

Giovanni, of Arezzo, 1300. Works in 
the cathedral of Orvieto. 

CiONE, of Florence, 1300. A silver al- 
tar, with figures in alt<j relievo, in the 
church of S. Giovanni Baltista at Flo- 
rence. He particularly excelled in 
works in gold and silver. 

Vanne, of Terracina, 1300. Many 
works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

GiAcoMiNO,ofComo, 1 300. Many works 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Benedetto, of Como, 1300. Many works 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Arnolfo Lapo, of Florence, 1300, 
Saints, crucifixes, and basso relievos, 
in common stone, on the facades and 
gates of various churches and convents 
in Tuscany. 

Agostino, brother of Paolo, of Siena, 
1300. Many works in the cathedral 
of Siena. Tomb of the Bishop of 

Arezzo, with several historical basso 
relievos in the episcopal church of 
Arezzo, A marble table of excellent 
workmanship, and adorned wiih many 
figures, for the church of St. Francis at 
Bologna. Many works in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

Paolo, brother of Agostino, of Siena, 
1300. By the increased animation 
which these two brothers imparled to ' 
their figures, sculpture was farther 

FoRzoRE Di Spinello, ofArezzo, 1300. 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 
vieto. He excelled in the execution 
of small works in gold and silver, as 
mitres and crowns, which he embel- 
lished uiih figures. 

Moccio, of Siena, 1320. Tomb of Cer- 
chi, in the church of S. Dominic at 
Arezzo. Many other works there and 
at Florence. He was the be^t sculp- 
tor in regard to style and execution 
since the time of Andrea Pii^ano. 

NiccoLo, of Florence, 1320. Woiks in 
the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Giacomo, of Floreiicf , 1 320. Works in 
the cathedral <if Orvieto. Several cru- 
cifixes at Florence 

GiAN Angelo, ol'Gubbio, 1320. Many 
saints and crucifixes at Rome, in the 
Ecclesiastical Slate, and in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

Selmino Ceccarelli, of Assisi, 1S20. 
Works at Assisi, Arezzo, Siena, and 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Petrcccio di Ciola, of Amelia, 1320. 
Works in the cathedrals of Orvieto 
and Siena. 

Ciccio, of Assisi, 1330. Several tombs 
at Assisi. Works in ,the cathedral of 

Angelo di Pietro, of Gubbio, 1330. 
Works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Jacomo Lanfrani, of Venice, 1330. 
Works in relievo on the tomb of An- 
drea Carduino, in the church of St. 
Dominic at Bologna. Portal and gate, 
with woik in relievo, to the church of 
St. FVancis at Iraqla. 

cii5pj^oLopipA|..5o;vvf >^,9^,T^^Q?^;;i^^l^i:^'T scyivjous. 1 33 

JAfopmLO, of Venice, 13,'iO. Torab, 

,.w0. figures, compljJile, ji,nj^, jn^^^ilto 

J relievo, iti marble, for Giovanni da 

Lugano, in tbe church of Sr, jDominic 

at IjDloyria, execuletl l)y him anil Pie- 

tro Paolo. Ho was a distm^uisheil 

artist of his acre. y ,''' 

PiETRO Paolo, of Venice^: 1330. — See 

the preceding. q _ /, 

Pes.\rkse. <tf Pesaro, 1330. Works in 
relievo, in maible, at the gale of the 
r''urt:h if Si. Dominic at Pesaro. 
UcoLiNo V'liiRi, (if Siena, 134-0. Worlis^ 

in the cathedral ot Orvie'o. ^^ ,, 
PiETRO Cavallini, of Rome, 134-0. 
Tlie WiiUiler-rtorking crucifix, in ^the 
ch rch of S. Paolo, without the city of 
Ronii', which is said lo have spoken lo 
. St. liriJ;iet. 

ToMMAso CiOTTiNO, of Florence, 1340. 
Ma;iy crucifixes and basso reliey.o.s 
niih figures of saints, in various con- 
vents in Florence. 
Andrea Oroauna, of Florence, 1.330 
Severa,! crucifixes at Florruce, in il-e 
Campo Santo, and in the cathedral, oi" 
Jacobo Orgagna, of Florence, 1350. 
The mule in the relievo over the porch 
of ^he cathedral of Florence. 
NiNus, of Pi^a, 1.350.' Many 
statues of saints and crucifixes in fht' 
churches and convenisof Naples/Pisa, 
Arezzo, Orvieto, and Florence. He 
assisted in the exeiiulionof ijbe^til 
bronze gales of S. Giovanni at Flo- 
. rence. He was remarkable for deli-; 
cacv of treatment and softiiess of.ex- 
ToMMASo Ugolino, ofPisa, f356. Basso^ 
relievo in tlie convent of Si, Francis af^ 
Pisa. Many crucifixes. 
Giovanni CiAccARi, of Italy, l!]ljO,\ i 
PiETRO CiACCARi, of Italy, 1350, s 
Ambrosino hi Meg, oflialy, I350,j J % 
Crisiiano diLando, of Italy, 1350,( = p 
Angeluccio Di Lando, 1350, 
Cecco MaiTani, of Orvieto, 135(T, 
NuTi Maitani, of Orvieto, 1350, [^'^ 
ANOREAlVlArTASi, of Orvieto, 1350 
FoL J I. No. IX. '" •" - 

Gjij^v.AN^o.A^iHRjOGio, of Florence^ 1 3.50. 
The siatiies vi Justice and St, Barbara, 
ini^iarble, iiiUM'< aljiedral of Florence. 
He was ren»iirkal)le for fiiihl'ul, but 
inelegant, imitaiinri (ilui'.Uire. 

I'lLiPi'O Calendario, of Venice, 1350. 
Many works for churches and con- 
vents, and also for some public edi- 
fices at Venice. 

Lohenzo A.mbrocio, of Florence. 1350. 
The staifte ofthe Virgin Mary, witb 
many other statues in marble, in the 
cathedral of Florence. 

Nic^ola da Siena, of Siena, 130O. 
Many works in the churches and con- 
vents in and near Siena, but particu- 
I'arly ip the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Lli:a di Giovanni, of Italy, 13G0. 

Mauv works in the cathedial of Or- 

viettj. ^^. 
., ■:. OOf- ' ■i-f.'i-thv _ ^ . 
Meo ni Andrea^ of Orvieto, 1360. 

Many works in the cathedral of Or- 

Giacomo, of Ravenna, 1370. Cruci- 
fixes, saiptiy Madonnas, at and near 

. Ravenna. Many works in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

FuANCEsco Seli.ari, of Florence, 1570. 
Several statues, in marhle, in the 
church of S^. Reparata of Floreix e. 

FiLiPPO Buunelleschi, of Florence, 
1390. St. IMary INIagdalen, in wood, 
ill the church of St. in irito. An ad- 
mirable crucifix, in wood, in the Ct- 
p^le di Goitdi', in the church <>f S. 
i\rari'a Novella at Florence. Small 
works in liold, silver, and bronze. 

' Model for tlie, 'porches of S'. (Jiovanni 

' at Florence, in compeliUon with Ghi- 

I *bef(i.'^ His si vie is' remarkable for 

. , -^j; -'■"A'- > ' ■:■■■■. 

truth and .di»iiit\'. 

........ o . ,• J, ^ j^, 

Cristofano SoCakio', of Milan, 1 1-00. 
Many statues, and oilier works, in ihe 

'\ ' '■' ' ■ ■. ' 1 r 

Carthusian coiivent at P.ivia, The 
statues t>f St. Roche, St, Lazaru-^, St. 
Peter, St. Helena, St, Lucia, St. Aga- 
tha, and many other saints in and 
about the cathetlral of Milan. His 
stvle was true lo nature, but jattief 
mean, , 


Dello, of Florence, 14-00. Many sta- 
tues ill Spain, but chiefly small works 
in gold, silver, marble, and bronze. 
BuGGiANO, of Buggiano, 1400. Infants 
in the sacrisiy of St. Repaiata. Por- 
trait of Filippo Brunelleschi in the ca- 
thedral of Florence. 
PiETRO, of Freiburg, 1400. Works at 
Freiburg, and in the cathedral of Or- 
Bamboccio, of Piperno, 1400. Tomb of 
Cardinttl Carbone. Slalues of Joshua 
and Michael. 
AiGUANi.of B dogna, 1400. Tombs and 
small statues in the Carmeliie church 
of St. Martino Maggiore at Florence. 
His stvle was dignified but sim[)le, 
and his execution natural. He was a 
friar, and attained the rank of cardinal. 
LucA DELLA RoBBi A, of Florence, 1400. 
Tomb of Malatesta, at Rimini. Many 
works in churches and convents at Flo- 
NiccoLo Lamberti, of Arezzo, 1400. 
Tomb of Pope Alexander V. in the 
church of St. Francis at Bologna. 
Many works at Arezzo and Florence. 
Francesco Lombardo, of Italy, I^IO. 
Works in the cathedral of Orvieto, at 
Pavia, Mantua, and Verona. 
Donatello, of Florence, 1420. A basso 
relievo, representing theAnnunciation, 
in stone, in the church of S. Croce at 
Florence. A crucifix, in wood, in the 
same church. Tomb of the deposed 
Pope Coscia, in S. Giovanni at Flo- 
rence. A Mary Magdalen in the 
same place. Daniel, St. John the 
Evangelist, St. Peter and St. Mark, 
St. George, St. Judith, St. David and 
St. Sebastian. A beautiful Mercury 
in bronze. Several tombs and basso 
relievos. Under the hands of this 
artist modern sculpture made consi- 

derable progress in every respect, but 
especially in regard to basso relievos. 
Tradate, of Milan, 1420. Statue of 
Pope Martin V. in marble, in the ca- 
thedral of Milan, and many other 
works there. 
Lorenzo di Bartoluccio, of Florence, 
1420. Many works in the cathedral 
of Orvieto. Model for the bronze 
gates of S. Giovanni Battista at Flo- 
rence, in competition with Ghiberti. 
Fuancf.sco, ofVandabrina, 1420. Many 
works in the cathedral of Orvieto, at 
Arezzo and Siena. Model for the 
bronze gates of S. Giovanni at Flo- 
rence, in competition with Ghiberttv 
SiMONE DA CoLLE, of Italy, 1420. 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 
vieto. Model for the bronze gates of 
S. Giovanni, in competition with Ghi- 
Lorenzo Ghiberti, of Florence, 1420. 
The beautiful and celebrated gates of 
bronze for the church of S. Giovanni 
I Battista at Florence. Two basso re- 
I lievos at Siena. Statue of St. Matthew, 
in bronze, atplorence. Shrine for re- 
lics in the church Degli Angeli at Flo- 
rence. Sarcophagus of St. Zenobius 
in the cathedral of Florence. Admi- 
rable works in gold and silver. He 
displayed an excellence that has ne- 
ver yet been surpassed in the, treatr 
ment of basso relievos. 
Francesco Buglione, of Florence, 

14-20. Various works in Florence. 
Simon Donatei.lo, of Florence, 1430. 
Tomb of Pope Martin V. in S. Gio- 
vanni di Laterano, and one of the 
bronze gates of St. Peter's, at Rome. 
Many monuments at Rimini, Florence, 
Arezzo, Prato, and Siena. 
(To he continued.) 


VTit ' 


Containing authentic Receipts and misccUuntous Infonnatinn in every Branch of 
Domestic Economj/, and uf general Ltility. 

also altered by coloured enamels : 


The beautiful art of enameling 
consists in the application of a 
smooth coating, or vitrified var- 
nish, melted upon the substance to 
which it is applied, so as to pro- 
duce a glossy varnish, either trans- 
parent or opaque, and with or with- 
out colour, fi;4ures, or other de- 
signs, which are likewise melted 
on the surface by the action of 

The general principles on which 
the art of tbe enanieler is found- 
ed, are, on the wliole, very simple; 
but there is perhaps none, of all 
the chemical processes of the arts, 
which requires a greater practical 
skill than the art of enameling. 
The only metals that are enameled 
upon, are gold, platina, and cop- 
per, and with the latter the opaque 
enamels are only used. Transpa- 
rent enamels can only be applied 
to the surface of such metals as do 
not become oxidated by open ex- 
posure to a red heat, nor whicl' 
suffer a chemical cljange by the 
contact of a vitreous fluid abound- 
ing with a metallic oxide. Hence 
coloured enamels, upon metals, 
cannot be applied to silver': though 
this metal suffer no oxidation by 

so that gold and platina are the 
only metals upon which colour- 
ed enamels can be laid without be- 
ing altered by them. The ena- 
meling on earthen ware or porcelain 
forms a different branch of the art. 
White Enamel. 

The simplest kind of enamel on 
metals is tliat fine opaque giass 
which is applied to the dials of 
watches : a good enamel of this 
kind, fit to be applied both to por- 
celain and metals, should be of a 
very clear, fine, white colour, so 
nearly opaque as only to be trans- 
parent at the edges; and at a mo- 
derate red heat it should run into 
that kind of paste, or imperfect 
fusion, which allows it to extend 
itself freely and uniformly, and to 
assume a vitreous glossy even sur- 
face, without, however, fully melt- 
ing into a thill liquid. The opaque 
white colour of this enamel is given 
by oxide of tin, which j)06sesses, 
even in a small portion, the capa- 
bility of rendering vitreous mix- 
lures opaque white. This enamel, 
either for earthen ware, or the pur- 
poses of being applied on metals, 
is best prepared in the following 
manner : — 

Calcine 100 parts of lead witli 
from 15 to 20, 30, or even 40, of 

mereheat,yetif,for example, ayel- li tin. A mixture of these me'aU 
low enamel, made of 6xide of lead ,! calcines very easilj' when in Con- 
or antimony, is laid on a surface of { tact with air. As soon as it is 
polished silver, and kept melted on brought to a red heat, it burns like 
it for a certain time, the silver and I charcoal, and is oxidated very 
enamel act on each otiier, and the i speedily. The composition which 
colour, insteadof being a clear yel- i calcines best, is that in which the 
low, becomei brown. Copper is | lead is to the tin as 100 to 20 or 25. 

T 2 


In |)roportion as the calciiialion is 
effected, the oxidated or calcined 
part must be taken away, and the 
operation continued till the whole 
becomes pulverulent. As some 
small particles always escape oxi- 
dation, you must expose to the fire 
a second time the oxide obtained, 
in order to oxidate it completely, 
which may be easily known by its 
ceasing to sparkle. When the pro- 
portion of tin exceeds 25 or 30 parts, 
a stronger fire is necessary to pro- 
duce oxidation. In a word, by | state of a purple oxide, always give 

tin is sulficient to form this preci- 
pitate. The solution of tin must 
be added gradually, until the pur- 
ple colour begin to appear; you 
then stop; and having suffered the 
coloured precipitate to be deposit- 
ed, it must be washed by the re- 
peated affusions of soft water, and 
suffered to dry slowly in a dark 
place, or defended from light. The 
different solutions of gold, in what- 
ever manner precipitated, provid- 
ed the gold be obtained in the 

varying the degrees of heat, the 
operator will easily be able to dis- 
cover the temperature best suited 
to the mixture on which he ope- 

One hundred parts of this oxide 
are to be mixed with an equal 
quantity of ground fiint; from 25 
to 30 parts of conunon salt are add- 
ed ; the whole is well mixed toge- 
ther, and fused at tlie bottom of a 
potter's kiln. When taken from 
the kiln it will not be white, but 
sometimes even very black; in ge- 
neral it is marbled with black, 
grey, and white. 

Purple Enamel. 

This colour is given by the pur- 
ple oxide of gold, which may be 

a purple colour, which will be more 

beautiful in proportion to the pu- 
; rity of the oxide: the presence of 

the minutest portion of iron mate- 
1 rially injures the colour. The gold 
I precipitated in the form of fulmi- 
j naiing gold, which loses the pro- 
i perty of fulminating when mixed 

with fluxes, gives a tolerably good 

purple. Saline fluxes are better 
I suited for this colour than those in 
I which there are metallic oxides. 
I Those, therefore, which have been 

made of silex or poudered flint, 
; borax and chalk, or white glass, 
I borax and u little white oxide of 
I antimony, with a minute portion of 

nitre, may be employed with it. 

Purple enamel will bear from 4 to 

pre|)ared in diiierent ways, such as j 24 parts of flux, and even more, 
b}- precipitating, by means of a ij according to the shade required. 

It is to be remarked, that this co- 

solution of tin in muriatic acid, at 
a nuniinuni of oxidation, a solution 
of gold in nitro-murJatic acid* di- 
luted with water. The smallest 
quantity possible of the solution of 

* Some valuable inforaiation concern- 
ing llie general nature and piepara;i<<n 
of this precipiiate, is to be found ia A 
practical Essaj/ on Clicmicul Re-agents, 
or Tests, p. 15(3, pul)li-.hed by J. Cal- 
low, Crown-court, Priiiceoh-^jueel, Soho, 

lour will not bear a strong heat. 
lied Enamel. 
We have no substance capable 
of giving directly a fine red colour. 
To obtain this colour, it must he 
compounded different ways. Take 
1, 2, or 2| parts of green sulphate 
of iron, and sulphate of alumine, 
or alum ; fuse them together in their 
water of crystallization, taking 
care that they are well mixed. 



Continue to lieat tlieui to complete 
dryness, tlien increase the lire so us 
to bring tlie mixture to a red heat, 
and keep the mixture heated until 
it has every where assumed a l)eau- 
tiful red cohnir, which may be as- 
certained by taking out a little of 
it, from time to time, and sull'ering 
it to cool in the o|ien air. The 
proportions of sulphate of alumine, 
or alum, and sulphate of iron, may 
be varied. The more alum be add- 
ed, the paler will be the colour. 
Three parts of ahun to 1 of sul- 
])hate of iron, gives u Hesh colour. 
It is alum also vvliich gives this co- 
lour the property of being perma- 
nent iu the fire. Tliis enamel does 
not require much tlux ; that which 
is best auited tor it, is comjjosed of 
alum, red lead or minium, common 
salt, and ground flint: iu general, 
3 parts of flux, with 1 of the colour ; 
but this ou^^ht to be varied accord- 
ing to the shade required. 
Yellow Enamel. 

Though this colour may be ob- 
tained in a direct manner, com- 
pound yellows are preferred, be- 
cause the}' are more certain in their 
effect, and more easily applied, than 
yellow obtained in a direct man- 
ner from the substance which pro- 
duces it ; namely, silver. 

The metallic oxides which fornt 
the basis of the yellow colour, be- 
sides silver, are generally those of 
lead, such as red lead or minium, 
white lead, and white oxide of an- 
timony. The following are the 
different compositions that may be 
used : — One part of white oxide of 
antimony, 1, 2, or 3 of white oxide 
of lead, 1 of alum, and 1 of muri- 
ate of ammonia. When these mat- 
ters have been pulverized and 
mixed together, they may be put 

into a vessel over a fire, sufficient 
to sublime the nmriate of amujo- 
nia; and when the mass lias as- 
sumed a yellow colour, the opera- 
tion is tinished. Yellow enamels 
recjuire so little flux, that 1 or 2 
parts, to 1 of the colour, is in ge- 
neral sufficient: saline fluxes are 
inqiroper for them, especially those 
whicli contain nitre. They must 
be used with fluxes composed of 
flint, oxide of lead, and borax, 
without any salt. The best method 
of employing the oxide of silver 
to produce a yellow, is to use ii 
pure : lay a light coating on the 
place which you wish to stain yel- 
low, and heat the vessel gently, to 
give it the colour; when it has 
been sufficiently heated, you take 
it from the fire, and separate the 
coiiting of oxide, which will be in 
a grt-at measure reduced to a me- 
tallic state, and you will And the 
place which it occupied tinged yel- 
low. This process succeeds best 
on glass. Sulphateofsilver, ground 
i up with water, answers beiit.r than 
j muriate of silver, which is cum- 
I moidy employed, 
j (J /It'll Kitaiiit'l 

I is obtained directly from oxide of 
I copper. All the oxides of this 
metal may be employed. They re- 
quire but little flux, which must 
not even be too fusible. One part 
j or 2 of flux is sufficient for 1 of 
! oxide. Green niay also be pro- 
i duced frou) a mixture of blue and 
I yellow. Oxiile of chrome gives a 
fine emerald green colour. 
Blue Enamel 
, is obtained from oxide of cobalt : 
I it is, of all etiamel colours, the 
I most certain and easily manage- 
|able: it is also the most fixed of 
' all colours, and becomes tqxiaiJy 



beautiful with a weak as with a 
strong fire. The more pure the 
oxide of cobalt, the more beautiful 
will be the blue. The presence of 
iron is extremely hostile to this co- 
lour, by imparting to it a muddi- 
ness. The saline fluxes whicli con- 
tain nitre are those best suited for 
it; but the flux which, with the 
cobalt blue, produces the greatest 
brilliancy and splendour, is that 
composed of white glass, of glass of 
borax, and nitre, with a minute 
portion of antimonial oxide. 
Violet Enamel. 
This colour is produced by means 
of black oxide of antimony with 
saline fluxes. By varying the 
fluxes, the shade of the colour is 
also varied. It is very fixed so long 
as it retains its oxigen : this is, how- 
ever, difficult to fix. No combus- 
tible substance ought to come into 
contact with it. A minute portion 

of oxide of cobalt improves the 

Black Enamel 
is produced by a n)ixture of oxide 
of cobalt, and black oxide of man- 

Those who paint on enamel, 
earthen ware, porcelain, &,c. must 
regulate the fusibility of the colours 
by the most tender of those em^ 
ployed. For example, the purple : 
when the degree best suited to 
purple has been found, the other 
less fusible colours may be regu- 
lated by the addition of flux, when 
it is necessary to fuse all the co- 
lours at the same time, and with the 
same degree of heat. 

The reader nwy conceive how 
much the diflRculties of this nice 
art are increased, when the ol/ject 
is to paint designs that require ex- 
treme delicacy of shading, and a 
proper selection of colours. 




This nobleman, who, during 
many years, was a colonel in the 
French guards, was not more dis- 
tinguished for his bravery and mi- 
litary knowledge, than for the vir- 
tues which adorned his private 
character; he was adored by his 
soldiers, who found in him a friend 
and father, and whose bitter regret 
for his loss was perhaps a stronger 
testimony of his virtues than the 
most laboured panegyric. It is 
well known, that, during the Revo- 
lution, his soldiers frequently en- 
deavoured to excuse the excesses 
rpf which they were guilt}', by de- 
claring that they never would have 
-jabaudoned the cause of royalty if 

their beloved commander had lived : 
this declaration, though no excuse 
for their conduct, was yet a proof 
of the influence which he had ob- 
tained over them. 

The marshal's revenues were 
princely, and his style of living 
magnificent, without prodigality. 
He was remarkable for doing the 
honours of his nation to foreigners, 
to whom his table and his boxes at 
the theatres were always open. 
There is a charming anecdote re- 
lated of him and Admiral Rodney, 
who was detained at Paris tor debt 
when war broke out in 1778. The 
marshal knew little of the admiral 
but by reputatiottj but his brave 



and generous soul fully appreciat- 
•etl what the gallant Uodiu-y must 
feel m being precluded from such 
an 0[;j)()riunity of tiistinguishing 
himself; and, in the n)ost delicate 
manner, he requfsied his accept- 
ance of the loan of a thousand 
louis; observing, at the same time, 
"that a few youthful frolics ought 
not to be a means of detaining a 
brave sailor from his duty ; and that 
if F'rance were to detain during 
war-time so valiant an enemy with- 
in htr territories, it would stigma- 
tize her with the reproach of cow- 

ardice." How valuable is a favour 
thus conferred ! and how strongly 
this trait reminds us of the noble 
and chivalrous Bayard ! 

Two years afterwards Admiral 
Rodney defeated the French Heet, 
an event which sensibly afflicted 
the French court, and perhaps none 
felt it more keenly than the mar- 
shal ; but he felt also a proud con- 
sciousness that he had no reproaches 
to make to himself, since he had 
but done what the laws of honour 
enjoined towards a distressed and 
gallant enemy. 


The Due de Guines, who was 
ambassador at the courts of Berlin 

wishes for some time, but at length 
they drew from him a promise, that 

and London during the reign of | at the last ball their curiosity should 
Louis XVI. was a p;irticular fa-! be gratified. Tlie day arrived, and 

at the usual hour tlie duke appear- 

vourite of Marie Antoinette's. He 
was also much distinguished by the 
great Frederic, who admitted him . 
to the closest intimacy; they fre- 
quently played together on the 
flute, an instrument on which each 
played remarkably well. Few men 
of his time surpassed the duke in 
wit, elegance, and address: when 
we have said this, it is scarcely ne- 
cessary to add, that he was a gene- 
ral favourite of the fair sex. Some 
droll adventures are related of him, 
from which I shall select one that 
caused much mirth at the time it 

During the carnival the duke 
formed an acquaintance at a ball 
m the opera with two young ladies, 
who appeared much flattered b) 
the attentions he paid them; but 
finding he did not unmask, they 

ed at the ball, but with an air of 
extreme meianchol)'; he conjured 
the ladies, in the most pathetic 
manner, to release him from a jjro- 
mise which it might cost him his 
life to comply with. All his en- 
treaties I'lad, as the reader may 
suppose, no other effect than to 
make the ladies more desirous to 
gratify their curiosity. When he 
found this was the case, he exacted 
a soleinn promise, wdiich they very 
readily made, to keep inviolable a 
secret, on which his honour,and per- 
haps his life, depended. In the au- 
tumn prior to the carnival, an assas- 
sination had been committed a few 
miles from Paris, attended with cir- 
cumstances of peculiar atrocity- ; 
the name of the murderer, who was 
a man of some rank, was known, but 

expressed a strong desire to know !, till then he had c(;ntrivecl to elude 

who he was. The duke carefully 
evaded a compliance with their 

the pursuit of justice. Guines 
thought, that by assuming the t^ianfe 



of this monster, he should have 
some sport with his fair inquisi- 
tives; and accordingly he took 
tliem into one of the front hoxes, 
where, feigning to be still reluc- 
tant to speak, they reproached him 
with doubting the promise of se- 
crecy which they had just made. 
" No," replied he, in the most me- 
lancholy tone, " it is not that I 
dreail to place my life in your 
hands, for 1 have no doubts of your 
discretion ; but how can I bear to 
think, tliat in a moment the regard 
whicli I flattered myself you felt 
for me, will change into horror? 

Would to Heaven 3'ou had not 
drawn from me this fatal promise! 
but since you are determined to 
exact the performance of it, know, 
that in the being before you, you 

behold the wretched M , the 

murderer !" 

He had not time to say more, 
before they exclaimed, " Oh, Hea- 
vens ! haste, secure this monster 1 

he is the murderer M !" — 

" Softly, softly, my dear ladies!" 
said the duke, unmasking ; " I only 
wished to know how far you could 
be trusted to keep a secret." 



Paris, July 5, \s\6. \, health : nay, they were not content 

Sir, iFyou have ever, during Ij with appropriating to themselves 

your boyish days, been a reader of !{ the whole train of nervous disor- 

Orienial tales, you may probably 
remember one, the moral of which 
is, tliat an ounce of experience is 
better than a pound of advice. I 
am at tliis moment a proof of the 
truth of this sensible adage, for I 
could not resolve to profit by the 
experience of some sensible friends 
and neichbonrs who had made a 
tour to France, and who assured me 
I should gain nothing by the jour- 
ney but a perfect knowledge of the 
comforts to be enjoyed in Old Eng- 
land. As it has lately become, I am 
sorry to say in a great measure, the 

ders, all of which, however, they 
were sure would be conquered di- 
rectly by the mild and salubrious 
air of Paris, but they endeavoured 
to persuade me, that a slight cold, 
which I caught by being out late 
one wet night, would certainly 
terminate in a decline if I did not 
immediately try the effects of a 
warn»er climate. Though I had 
always a dislike to leave England, 
I was at last so tired out by hearing 
the subject eternally discussed, that 
in an unlucky hour I consented to 
pass a few months in Paris. Adieu 

fashion to take a peep at the great | to nerves and passions! My fair in 

7?fl^;"o»,my wife and daughters deter- 
mined to be as tonish as their neigh- 
bours, and opened upon me a grand 
battery of prayers, caresses,persua- 
sipn?, and, finally, complaints of ill 

valids were now all bustle, gaiety, 
and preparation ; and in less time 
than I thought they could have or- 
dered what was necessary for their 
journey, they were ready to set out. 



As uiy daughters had never he- 
fore quitted tlieir paternal mansion 
in Derbyshire, they were delighted 
with our journey; and my wife, 
whose natural kindness of heart 
disposes iier to take pleasure in 
seeing others happy, was in high 
spirits all the way. I found the 
roads and accommodation very to- 
lerable, and we reached Paris in 
perfect good humour. The first 
thing we did was to look out for 
apartments, and I own 1 was ap- 
prehensive that my wife, who is 
one of the neatest women in the 
world, would be disgusted with the 
want of cleanliness which our spa- 
cious and well-furnished rooms 
exhibited; but, on the contrary, 
she assured me, with a placid 
smile, that they were not so bad as 
she ap|)rehended they would be, 
and she thought that we had better 
remove into them that very day, as 
her daughters must lose no time in 
equipping themselves a la Fari- 
sieniie. As I wished to see them 
handsomely dressed, I gave my 
wife a sum (I am ashamed, Mr. 
Editor, to mention the amount,) to 
buy what was necessary ; but had 
you seen the paraphernalia which 
arrived at our hotel on tliat and the 
next day, you would have supposed 
my wife and daughters were lay- 
ing in a stock of clothes for the 
rest of their lives. I becran seri- 
ously to remonstrate with Mrs. 
Homebred on this nniu cossary ex- 
travagance, Init she assured mel was 
mistaken /// totn^ as she had strictlv 
o])eycd my orders, for she had j)ur- 
chased nothing hut what was abso- 
lutely necessary; in short, they 
were things which nobody could do 
without. Now, Mr. Editor, if you 
be married, you must be aware, 

Vol. II. No. IX. 

that wives are a])t to lay down cer- 
tain incomprehensible propositions 
as matters ol faith, to which a hus- 
i)and, wlio means to live in peace, 
must give his assent ; and 1 must 
own that this was one of them : 
however, as it was the first time 
Mrs. Homebred had required the 
absolute surrender of n^y under- 
standing, I swallowed the pill with- 
out many wry faces. But niy pla- 
cidity could not stand the test of my 
wife's and daughters' appearance 
the next day at dinner. " In the 
name of folly," cried I, " what 
costume do you call this?" — " La, 
papal" cried my eldest girl, " why 
the costume of Paris, to be sure." 
— "No such thing," replied I; 
" your heads are it la C/iiiioise, your 
feet a la Komaiiic, }|nur waists a la 
Grecque; as to your drapery, that 
indeed may be a la Fravroise for 
any thing 1 know to the contrary ; 
I can only say, in plain P^ngljsh, 
that it is shamefully indecent." — 
" Indecent!" cried my wife," how 
can you say so, Mr. Homebred.^ 
Don't you see the girls have got 
i handkerchiefs on, which they never 
! wore in England?" — " I cry you 
! mercy," said I, " so ihey have in- 
' deed ; but a handkerchief which 
t studiously displays all that it was 
originally intended to hide, says 
j little in favour of the delicacy of 
I the wearer. But pray, my dear," 
■ continued I, " had not you better 
loop the girls' dresses a little high- 
er ?" — " Higher !" repeated my wife 
i in a tone of surprise. — "Yes," cried 
i I, " for at present they shew only 
the calf of the leg, and if they were 
an inch or two shorter, they would 
display the beauty of the knee." 
The girls blushed and cast down 
their eyes, but the mother took up 




the matter very angrily. " My 
dear," said I, " your milliner has 
done her part so admirably towards 
disfiguring- you,, that you need not 
call anger to her assistance." — 
" Was ever the like heard ?" cried 
she, now worked up into a real 
rage; " any body but yourself 
would give me credit for adopting 
a dress so well calculated for my 
years." — " Why, indeed," replied 
I, " if females of a certain age were 
as mucii the rage here as in Eng- 
land, I miglit think that you did it 
on purpose to keep out of the way 
of temptation ; but as Monsieur, 
with all his politeness, would pro- 
nounce you poisee, I should be 
sincerely glad to see you dressed 
like the handsome elegant matron 
I brought with me from England, 
instead of bein<£ loaded with those 
trumpery flounces, and disfigured 
by that abominable cap." 

As the former part of my speech 
had rather conciliated Mrs. Home- 
bred, she replied in a softened tone, 
" I cannot conceive, my dear, why 
you should dislike my coruette, it is 
universally admired." — "That may 
be," cried I, " but I protest I can 
see but one use it could ever be 
intended for, and that is to deco- 
rate the head of a poissarde at the 
feast of the goddess of Reason." — 
This unlucky speech kindled my 
wife's wrath to such a degree, that, 
as my daughters were present, I 
thought it high time, in common 
prudence, to decamp, lest Mrs. 
Homebred and I should come to 
an open rupture. 

I took an opportunity, liowcver, 
to talk very seriously to the girls ; 
and as thev do not want sense, my 
exhortations produced a partial re- 
formation in their dress. Mv wife, 

however, was invulnerable either 
to reason or ridicule, and I thought 
it the best way to suffer her folly to 
take its course quietly ; and indeed 
1 had not much time to think about 
it, before I was assailed by new 
vexations. Our letters of intro- 
duction soon gained us a numerous 
acquaintance, who took no small 
pains to divest the ladies of their 
native rusticity, and substitute in 
its place the true Parisian air; the 
native lilies and roses of my girls 
were hid under a coat of rouge and 
fard ; and even my wife, who, 
though she is nearly fifty, is still a 
remarkably fine woman, wore a lit- 
tle rouge in full dress, because she 
hated to appear unlike other peo- 
ple. But our new friends were 
not content with Frenchifying our 
persons, they kindly extended their 
cares to our minds also. A ci-de- 
vaiit abbe, who has figured conspi- 
cuously in the Revolution, under 
pretence of improving my eldest 
daughter's pronunciation of French, 
has made, I am afraid, some pro- 
gress in shaking her faith in reveal- 
ed religion. You may suppose I 
forbade the rascal my house as soou 
as 1 discovered the subject of his 
conferences with my girl, but I 
fear it will be some time before 
plain sound reasoning will be able 
to undo the mischief which his so- 
phistry has eflected. 

My youngest daughter, who is 
naturally very volatile, has, from 
associating with Madame la Mar- 
rjnise de J3onfront, Madame la Com- 
fesse Sans Pudeur, and others of 
their stamp, learned to laugh at 
English prudery, and to consider 
marririge as a mere political insti- 
tution. But this, though it sensi- 
bly affects me, is not, Mr. Editor, 



my greatest grievance, because, as 
the girls are naturally well dispos- 
ed, I have no doubt of bcint^ able 
to set their heads to rights it once 
I could get them out of" this empo- 
rium of folly ; but though the time 
I agreed to remain lure has long 
been expired, our departure is still 
obstinately delayed by my wife, 
who, from a quiet, rational, unpre- 
tending woman, is metamorphosed 
into a politician and a bel csjirit ; 
and when I add, tliat in both cha- 
racters she talks nonsense as volu- 
bly, as confidently, and with as im- 
posing an air as if she was born a 
Frenchwoman, you must allow, 
that in seven months she has made 
great progress. 

I am not, INIr. Editor, a preju- 
diced, illiberal being, who conceives 
that virtue and talent are not to be 
found out of his own country. 
Since my arrival here, I have met 
with persons of both sexes who 
would do honour to any nation, but 
such people are little seen at this 
moment iti what is termed good so- 
ciety; and when we take a retro- j 

spect of events since tlu; llevolu- 
tion of 1789, we c.mnot be sur- 
prised, that people who arc in ge- 
neral, to sjjeuk in their own lan- 
guage, parvenus, should not be ex- 
actly calculated for models fur 
their neighbours. There is also a 
certain ditVerence of disposition be- 
tween French and English women, 
which nature has marked so dis- 
tinctly, that an attempt to engraft 
the gay manner of the one upon 
the sober character of the otl>er 
can never succeed ; and when our 
lovely country-women have done 
their possible to assume the dress, 
air, and manner of th.eir neij^h- 
bours, they will find that their trou- 
ble has a<)s\vered no other purpose 
than to render them less attractive 
in the eyes of their countrymen, 
at least of all men of sense ; and I 
have too good an opinioji of the 
taste and understanding of my fair 
fellow-citizens, to think the}' would 
ever wish to excite the admiration 
of fools or coxcombs. I am, &c. 


ilir. Editor, iiyear; because, amongst the whole 

In intruding upon your va- i! circle of my female acquaintance, 

luable time by a relation of my I could not meet with one who 

domestic grievances, I am notalto- jj realized the idea I had i'lMiued of 

gether actuated by selfish motives; ' wlmt a wife oimht to bf. Yonili 

though I will frankly confess, that 
the pleasureof com plaint is one rea- 
son, yet my strongest is a desire to 
warn others against the folly which 
has destroyed the tranquillity of my 

and beauty were qualities I could 
! not dispense with in my intended, 
I whom I also expected to possess 
' good temper, plain sense, and above 
[all, that perfection, rare, alas! in 

future days. Without farther j>re- ' a woman, tlie art of holding her 
face then, Mr. Editor, you must .! tongue whenever I did not wish to 
know, that I remained a bachelor ! be annoyed by feminine prattle, 
till I had attained my fort3--second l' It happened one day, that an old 

U 2 



cofFee-house acquaintance of mine 
was rallying me on my remaining 
so long a bachelor. I told him my j 
reasons. "Well," cried he, "if' 
you have no other objection to ma- 
trimony than what arises from the 
fear of not meeting with a suitable 
helpmate, 1 think I can find you 
one. 1 have a ward, the prettiest 
girl in England, and I am mistaken 
if you do not find in her the rara 
avis you have been so long in search 
of. You sh;ill dine with me to- 
morrow, and I will introduce you 
to her." I went, saw, and was con- 
quered. Miss Harriet had a 

most intelligent as well as beauti- 
ful countenance, and there was an 
unaffected timidity in her manner 
that quite captivated me: butwhat 
after a few visits completely rivet- 
ed my chains, was her uncommon 
taciturnity ; with all my address, I 
could seldom extract more from 
her than a monosyllable. She had 
no fortune, but I considered her 
as being in herself a treasure, and 
I urged my suit with so much ar- 
dour, that, after a very short court- 
ship, we were uiarried. 

I have heard much of the honey- 
moon, but I can safely declare, that 
mine was scarcely a honey-week; 
for before the end of that time, I 
perceived that my wife's princij)al 
charm had vanished : her monosyl- 
lables gave place to long and tire- 
some harangues on the most frivo- 
lous subjects; no matter how I was 
engaged, or who was present, Lady 

A 's sweet cap, or Miss B 's 

divine robe, were descanted upon, 
or described, with the most pro- 
voking minuteness. Slie once in- 
terrupted a friend of mine in the 
midst of a comparison which he 
v\as drawing between the merits 

of Cicero and Demosthenes, to re- 
late to us a hon mot of Master Le- 
muel Loveprattle, a child three 
years old, the hopeful heir of Lord 
Shatterbrain ; and another time she 
observed, before a room full of 
company, that I ought to be asham- 
ed of myself for praising the virtues 
of the Romans, who were, she ob- 
served, a parcel of cruel wretches, 
that never shot even the military 
men whom they condemned to 
death, although it was the easiest 
and most rapid way of terminating 
existence. Think of my agony, 
Mr. Editor, to hear her expose lier 
ignorance in this manner. I re- 
monstrated with her when the com- 
pany were gone, on the blunder 
she iiad conmiitted in talking of 
people being shot so long before 
gunpowder was invented. I beg- 
geil of her to confine herself for 
the future to subjects whic'n she 
understood : but the only effect of 
i this conversation was, to bring out 
i a new trait in her disposition, sul- 
lenness. This, ho^vever, I should 
not have minded, had htr suUenness 
been of the silent kind, but tliat 
was not the case: it is true, shedid 
not talk In me, but she was conti- 
nually talking at me. In order to 
get rid of this grievance, I took 
refuge in my library : but the tran- 
quillity which I hoped to enjuy, 
was entirely destroyed by my per- 
ceiving that a smart young officer, 
who was our opposite neighbour, 
had commenced a regular attack 
upon my fortress. Perceiving, I 
suppose, that my wife usually anius- 
ed herself, when she was at home, 
by lounging at the drawing-room 
windows, he made use of the artille- 
ry generally employed on those oc- 
casions — bows, smiles, and glances; 



in short, he had ^oi as far as kiss- 
in": olh;uiJs hefore I observed him. 
You may suppose 1 lost no time in 
putting an end to this dangerous 
intercourse, but in order to do so, 
1 was obliged to take my wife from 
London ; and as my ill fortune 
would have it, I carried her to pay 
a visit to an aunt of hers, who had 
pressingly solicited our company. 
This good lady, who has buried 
two husbands, is now a third time 
a caiulidaie for n)atrimony. Slie 
received us with much kindness, 
and I i)egan to hope that she would 
be of considerable service in cor- 
recting the faults of my helpmate. 
How rational these expectations 
were, you may judge from the 
manner in which she had proceed- 
ed with her iirst husband, a man 
of a remarkably quiet easy tem- 
per, and of a delicate constitution. 
Finding that he hated noise above 
all things, she declared he was trou- 
bleo with the vapours, and that 
com[)any and amusement were ab- 
solutely necessary to prevent his 
going into alow nervous way. She 
acctjrdingly filled his house with a 
set of dissipated young people oi 
both sexes, who kept up a racket 
from morning till night, and from 
night till morning. In vain did the 
p(;or man declare, that her mis- 
taken kindness would be the death 
of him ; she replied, slie knew 
her duty too well to indulge his 

vapourish whims, which she was 
persuaded she took the right way 
to remove. She did remove them 
elFectualiy, for he died at the end 
of six months. 

Her next husband was composed 
of tougher materials, for he sur- 
vived his marriage for some years; 
nor do I know how she managed to 
get rid of him. I had been, how- 
ever, for some time in her house 
before I heard this anecdote, and 
when I did I lost no time in quitting 
it. But, alas! Mr. Editor, the mis- 
chief was already done : silly as my 
helpmate naturally is, it is incon- 
ceivable what progress she has made 
in the art of tormenting; not con- 
tent with giving a mortal stab to 
my quiet by her incessant and ri- 
diculous prattle, she destroys mj 
fortune by her extravagance, and 

[ endangers my honour by her levity. 

; It is true, there is one remedy — I 
might part with her, but she has 
just presented me with a lovely 
little girl, for whose sake I feel an 
unconquerable repugnance to the 
only measure that could give me 

j peace. If, however, I can neither 

} l)e easy nor happy mj'self, I will at 

j least indulge a hope, that my ex- 
ample may deter other old bache- 

! lors from being guilty of a similar 
folly. In this hope, I have the ho- 
nour to subscribe myself your con- 
St ant reader, 

1 Solomon Sapient. 



(Continued from p. 81.) 

Lady Lindkrmere, at the time ] the atmosphere in which she moved, 

we take up our pen, had, however, 
lost some small share of her popu- 
larity among the single males in 

from her manner of pushing her 
daughters into wedlock. Many per- 
sons resolved to avoid the "priestes* 



of Hymen;" butwlio could refrain 
from attending parties to which 
everij body went? and when once 
with her in a dravving-roon), you 
delighted to be near her. Her at- 
tentions possessed a magical inBu- 
ence, and you were led by the ignis 
J'aiaus of her smiles, to commend 
every thing she uttered. What 
rout could be brilliant without her? 
.She even Hi up whist and quadrille; 
loo and cassino immediately lan- 
guished at her departure. What 
satisfaction would some mothers 
have felt in possessing two such 
daughters as the Miss Lindermeres! 
Imagine to yourself the form of 
fashion and the mould of grace, 
with the manners of the old scliooi 
corrected by the frankness of the 

Enter Lady Lindermere, leaning 
on two foils — these are her daujih- 
ters. There are different classifi- 
cations of the brute animal in na- 
tural history, and if there were 
also similar ones with regard to 
intellectual animals, we should say, 
that the Miss Lindermeres were of 
the genus of the good sort of girls 
enough. But they were short and 
squat: they r/iVi waltz and play the 
harp ; but in the pirouette they dis- 
played ancles too thick for those of 
a Grace, and in reaching the harp- 
strings their arms were stretched 
to a painful extent. In their man- 
ners they were equally gauche. 
They could not tell ten thousand 
white lies in a given time; they 
could not affect to be extremely 
sorry at the death of a maiden aunt 
or a pug-dog, or rejoice and grieve 
at what did not concern them. At 
whist they once revoked! nor did 
they at all excel in a number of 
those trifles to which fashion gives 

eclat, hut whose nothingness is, ^ve 
confess, sometimes gained at the 
expense of better employment. If 
you saw them charming, you saw 
not half those charms their ill-set 
fashions concealed ; they were not 
daughters in accord w\tU Lady Lin- 
dermere, and all her injunctions, 
her commands, and even threats, 
might as well have been thrown 
away in converting ploughboys, or 
teaching the hel air to dairy- 

Fortunately, however, for the fair 
sex, there are different ideas of 
the styles and gradations of beauty ; 
?ind it is fortunate for many dam- 
sels, that every body does not judge 
of it by the standard of Phidias or 
Flaxman. Dorinda Lindermere was 
under the common size, and na 
more like the statueof the Venus de 
Medicis, or any other Venus, than I 
to Hercules. She was embonpoint 
and set. Her face was as round as 
most good-natured faces usuallyare. 
Her nose was what an artist would 
call infamous; but her eyes were 
dark, large, and full. Her teeth were 
not bad, and her cheeks were at 
least equal to the colour of those 
which her mother bought in Pic- 
cadilly. Sir Theodore Johnson had 
danced with her at Lady Challon- 
cr's ; her mother had asked all about 
and about her partner in the course 
of the evening, and as he was hand- 
ing her to her carriage^ he received 
an invitation for a visit at Farley- 
House any morning he pleased. 
A w^eek elapsed, however, and no 
Sir Theodore. Another came, and 
Sir Theodore refrained from a visit : 
but if you expect us, gentle reader, 
to tell "why he comes not yet^'* 
you only expect that whicii will 
only jwze us, without affording any 



satisfaction to yourself. Sir Theo- 
dore was a mighty lack-a-daisyisli 
sort of a gentleman ; he sometimes 
thought he had better marry, and 
sometimes that he had better not; 
and once nnder the dominion of 
the former idea, he was thinking of 
calling that morning on Dorinda, 
and had ordered liis horse for Gros- 
venor-square, when Noverrc pre- 
sented him with a card, on which 
he read, " I.ady Lindermere at 
liome on Friday, June the 10th." 
Bnt how came it tliat Lady Lin- 
dermere, a strong stickler for eti- 
quette, invited a young man to her 
party, who had not deigned to call 
on her after being invited ? Was 
this probable, from a lady who was 
even a slave to ceremony? Hold 
thy tongue, gentle reader, for we 
shall not pretend to answer your 
whys and your wherefores. Head 
our tale as we think proper to write 
it, or lay it down. If that wont 
content you, and you must have a 
reason, we tell you she did so — 
because she did so — or things must 
give way to circumstances, or 

Sir Theodore Johnson had a clear 
income of 10,000/. a year, expec- 
tancies, and a seat in the House. 
He had often talked at random of 
running in the curricle of wedlock 
— of curbs, and reins, and liberty; 
he had long been the butt of mo- 
thers, aunts, and aspiring maidens. 
He would have cultivated the Lin- 
dermere connection, but this last 
hint threw him off, and he deter- 
mined, or at least he thoujrht he de- 
termined, never to see his dear 
Dorinda more! A short time, how- 
ever, after thereceiptof thiscard, he 
flopped a.t Phillipb's on her ladyship, 
who paying him so many adroit 
coraplimo^nts on his taste in a bau- 

ble he had just purchased for a 
cool hundred, that he found it ab- 
solutely necessary to be at the party 
of a woman who possessed so pro- 
found a taste in affairs of elejjant 

Just before he became a dangler 
at Lady Lindermere's — for Sir 
Theodore, after this party, did be- 
come a dangler at her ladyship's — 
as he was one morning driving all 
the way from Pail-Mall to Bond- 
street, and from Bond-street to 
Pail-Mall, v.itli his reins lying slo- 
venly on the horses' back-^, he en- 
countered a young lady, who, iii 
crossing the street and in endea- 
vourinir to avoid the vulcrar con- 
cussion of a hackney coacii, pre- 
cipitated herself immediately on 
the pole of Sir Tiieotlore's carriage, 
to which two of the finest cliesntit 
horses in nature were aflixed; and 
their master not being able or ready 
to pull up the aforesaid ehesnul.*, 
suffered them to throw down the 
lady, and had well nigh grievously- 
vexed and damaged tlieunrortunate 
cause of his stoppage. The po- 
pulace, however, did for Sir Theo- 
dore what he was unable to do him- 
self; they stojiped the beasts — res- 
cued the girl from an impending 
sudden death, and conveyed her 
to Hookham's in something like an 
hysteric. Sir Theodore very pro- 
perly gave the recreant iiorses to 
James, and followed the distressed 
damsel, whose beauty indeed had 
been the cause of her misl.ap, by 
diverting the eyes of our baronet 
from jeliuitical caution. He ac- 
comjjanied her, and beheld, during 
a paroxysm of this hysteric, the 
prettiest foot and ancle ever formed 
by nature; and we record it as a 
testimony of rare philoso|)hy in Sir 



Theodore, that while some men 
would have been so much alarn)ed I 
on this occasion as scarcely to know ; 
theaj^e of the person they had near- ' 
ly killed from carelessness, he was j 
surveying, with all the cool dignity ' 
of an ancient Roman, the effect I 
the accident had produced. Sir 
Theodore Johnson, most unfortu- j 
nately for Dorinda Lindermere, ' 
was an amateur of pretty ancles, 
and he gazed on the one now be- 
fore him till some part of the dress 
of the unconscious fair one, more 
decorous than the other, hid it from 
sight, but not until the amateur 
had become deeply interested in 
the fate of its owner. 

He was well known atHookham's: 
the lady, during her half breathing 
and palpitations, had distinctly 
heard his name apostrophized ; she 
now recovered, and receiving his 
profound apologies with renewed 
blushes, as she declared she was 
r.ot at all injured by the mischance, 
hut found herself able to walk to 
Mrs. Gunning's, which was only in 
the next street, without the curri- 
cle, or the more humble medium 

of a hackney coach. On the fol- 
lowing morning Noverre was sent 
with his master's compliments to 
Pall-Mall, to enquire after the 
health of Miss Gunning, at "Mrs. 
Gunning's Promenade des Modes.'''' 
The course of true love did never 
run smoothly. This is a mere asser- 
tion of one Mr. Shakspeare, which 
we in one instance mean to confute, 
unless our readers doubt Sir Tiieo- 
dore was a true lover. He said he 
was all fire and fury — for in saun- 
tering up Pali-Mall, just pour pas- 
ser le terns, he saw at a window at the 
Promenade des Modes, that a suite 
of rooms lately occupied by the 
illustrious P was to be let im- 
mediately. There may be people 
impertinent enough to wonder why 
Sir Theodore, having elegant apart- 
nients at the Albany, should re- 
quire any in Pall-Mall. We shall 
not answer any rude questions ; 
suffice it to say, he came, saw, and 
took them : in other words, in one 
little week he became an inmate at 
Mrs. Gunning's. 

C To he concluded in onr next.) 



By Augustus von Kotzebue. 
(Concluded from p. 9().J 

Fate decreed that the old ba- 
chelor with w liom Count S 

went to dine, should be seized, af- 
ter eating a hearty dinner, with a 
violent cholic. The pleasure of the 
day was spoiled ; the host was car- 
ried to bed, and the guests sepa- 
rated. In consequence of this un- 
expected attack, the young count 
returned home about eleven o'clock, 

and was informed that Emily was 
gone to spend tlie evening at Cap- 
tain B.'s. This intelligence gave 
' no uneasiness; he walked cool- 
ly to and fro, confident that the 
presence of the captain's wife was a 
sure pledge, that the bounds of de- 
corum would not be transgressed 
there. The clock, however, struck 
one, and no Emily came. Another 



The count now l)cgan to lie un- 
easy. " W'liiii can tins mean f" 
ihonslit lie: "she never stavs so 

hour passed, and still she tliil not down to reail, look up a magazine, 

but though his eyes were stediastly 
(ixed on the pa^es, he knew not a 
word they contained. He went to 
the pianortorte, sounded a chord, 

late as this." He counted every ; but his fingers remained motionless 

upon tlie keys. Tlie clock struck 
SIX, and his impatience increased 
to the highest jjitch ; it struck se- 
ven, and he could no longer en- 
dure the cruel suspense. 

*' Jf the countess comes home," 
said he to his valet, " tell her that 
I am gone to the coffee-house to 
breakfast." This was ihejifth un- 
truth; for instead of going to the 
coffee-house, he went straight to 
Captain B.'s. Laura had passed 
the night in the satne manner as 
the count; and indeed still worse, 
tor she was sincerely attached to 

minute, and nunibercd every hour 
that struck. When lie heard a car- 
riage rattling at a distance, he in- 
stantly ti)ouglit," That is she ;" but 
still he was disappointed. Wlien 
he heard footsteps in the street, 
lie cried, " There she comes;" but 
still she came not. As long as it 
was dark he was all ear; not the 
smallest sound escaped him, and 
lie fancied every one had relation 
to Knnly. Some one knocked at 
the door of a neigiibouring iihysi- 
eian. " l'ossil)ly she may have 
been taken ill," thought he. 

It wastohimthemostterrible,the I the captain. She had, however, 
most tedious of nights, such as the i enjoyed one comfort, wliich is al- 
bewildered wanderer alone passes [ ways at the command of women — 
in a dreary forest. He needed only I namely, tears. This the count per- 
to have sent to inquire the reason ' ceived i'roni ht r eyes, which were 
of his wife's stay; but that he did '"t'd vvitii weeping — he perceived 
not chuse to do. "1 will see," I '^ '^nd tremble d. "Hasanyacci- 
thought he, " how far sl:c will car- - dent happened to my wife?" oried 
ry it : if she knows that I am at !j ii«i hastily to Laura, 
home, she will have leisure to de- ' luura. I hope not. 
vise some excuse or other for her '; Count. Is she gone from hence, 
absence; but if she is surprised by j! then? 

the sight of me, sl;e will not have |! Laura. She left me at half-past 
time to prepare herself, and I shall (i three. 

|)erliaps read upon her glowing | 
cheek theconfcssion of he rshaine." i 
At length it grew light, and now { 
his ears were relieved in their duty ' 
by his eyes. As often as he rnea- j 
sured the room with hasty step, so | 

Count, Did nothing ail her ? 

Laura. () no ! nothing at all. 

CoHiit. vVnd whither was site 
going ? 

Laura. Home, I suppose. 

Count. Home ! but she has not 
been there. 1 have just come from 

often did he stop at the window 
and look out, not onlv the way 11 home. 

which s'ne was to come, but also Laura( invioleut agitation). WcW, 
that by which she could not possi- i then, 1 don't know where she can 
hiy be expected. His anxiety in- I 1)6 gone to. 

creased every n-.inute. He sat I Count. Did she go alon^?. ,. . . 
f'n!. If. Xo. I\\ X 


Laura (reprashig her tears). My 
liusbdiid accompanied her. 

Count. Indeed! And they have 
been gone three hours and a halt? 
It is very extraordinary ! 

Laura trembled all over. She 
would fain have given free vent to 
her tears, but then she would have 
betrayed her inmost thoughts. T\\e 
fear of exciting in the count a sus- 
picion, to which he was perhaps 
yet a stranger, and thereby fur- 
nishing occasion for a duel, which 
might endanger the life of her 
husband, restrained her. She dis- 
sembled as well as she could, while 
the flame within raged the more 
furiousl}'. The count was in the 
same predicament, and yet he de- 
termined to remain at Laura's till 
her husband returned. They agreed 
to breakfast together. The choco- i 
late was brought in ; tliey raised 
the cups to their lips, but without 
drinking ; and the toast, which they 
tried to eat, they were unable to 
swallow. Never were two persons 
so constrained and oppressed by 
each other's society. 

To the great alleviation of both, 
a doctor, to whom 1 shall give the 
name of Tattle, came to inquire 
after the lady's health. He was a 
polite little man, who was to be 
seen every where, who knew every 
thing, and laughed at every thing; 
in short, a living chronicle of all 
the scandal of the town, which 
caused him to be universally' con- 
sidered as an agreeable companion. 
No sooner did he remark that 
Laura was absent, and the count 
reserved, than he exerted all his 
art to cheer up their spirits, but 
without success. 

He felt Laura's pulse, " llather 
feverish, madatu," suid he. 

" Very likely," was the reply. 

" What ails you ?" 

" Nothing." 

"Oho! nothing but a pretty 
whim, an amiable caprice. But do 
you know," cotitinued he, with a 
roguish look, " that it is in my 
power to change your whim into 
earnest ?" 

" How so?" 

" Why the captain " 

" Well, what of the captain ? 
What has he done ?" 

" That he best knows himself. 
For n>y part, I know no more than 
that 1 saw him half an hour ago in 
tlie park, not far from the keeper's 
lodge, and in company with a very 
handsome and elegant female." 

" Very likely," rejoined Laura, 
with a tone designed to denote in- 
difference, but which the glow of 
her cheeks proved to proceed from 
a very different sentiment. 

" Indeed ?" said the count, with 
an accent intended to express in- 
terrogation, but which betrayed the 
keenest vexation. 

Dr. Tattle began to imagine that 
he had made a discovery, and de- 
termined to ascertain the accuracy 
of his suspicions. " I hope, ma- 
dam," said he, " that you will 
know how to take a joke; for 
though I was not near enough to 
[ recognize the lady with whom your 
husband was walking, still I could 
perceive that she was perfectly well 
dressed, and her whole manner 
j sliowed that she was not of the 
' common order." 

j This was more tlian sufficient to 
! aggravate the torments of the count 
j and Laura to the utmost. Anxiety 
and rage were manifest in every 
{ movement. The lips were silent, 
' but quivered convulsively. The 



doctor perceived that his company 
was superfluous, and would have 
retired. At this nionient the cap- 
tain entered. The presence ot" tlie 
doctor, ligluly as it weighed, was 
nevertheless some restraint upon 
the count. In a tone that was 
meant for jocose, hut that con)- 
plelfly (ailed of its effect, he ac- 
costed ilie captain with, " What 
have you done with my wife r" 

The captain perceived, from the 
count's looks, that all was not right ; 
the eyes of his wife betrayed the 
traces of tears; he conjectured the 
suspicions of both, and therefore 
thought jt better to say nothing 
conctrning the walk in the park. 
*' I left Emily," replied he, " at 
her cousin's, who is not well, and 
wished for her company to break- 
fast. What is since become of her 
I don't know." 

This was the sixth falsehood, and 
the honest captain could not pro- 
nounce it without stammering. The 
count was silent, though his bosom 
was convulsed with passion. He 
coldly took his leave and retired, 
accompanied by Dr. Tattle. 

When the captain and Laura 
were left to themselves, they soon 
came to a mutual explanation, in 
which the honest frankness of the 
former easily overcame all the sus- 
picions of his wife. But he now 
learned, to his terror, that his walk 
in the park had been betrayed by 
Dr. Tattle; he saw what conse- 
quences might result from the little 
deviation from truth which he had 
inconsiderately allowed himself. 
He entreated his wife to hasten to 
Emily's cousin, to concert with her 
the means of warning Emily of her 
danger, and, in particular, to ad- 

vise her to conceal nothing from 
her husl)aii(.l. 

L.anra drove immediately to the 
cousin's. 'I"he count had already 
i)een there, and had learned, partly 
from the unstress, and partly iVom 
her servants, that Emily had not 
staid there above half an hour. 
With this conlirmation of his tor- 
turing suspicions he had hastily de- 

Laura instantly sat down, and 
wrote the following note : — 

" Dear Emi/ij, 

" 1 am very uneasy on your 
account. Your husband knows that 
you were in the park with mme. 
He is jealous, and I must confess 
that I was n)yself not without sus- 
picions. But now, since I have 
spoken to my husband, I am con- 
vinced of your innocence and his. 
I know how accident has played 
with you, and am even informed by 
your cousin how heartily you de- 
sired to get rid of his company. 1 
entreat you to be perfectly candid 
to the count, as my husband has 
been to me. It is the only way to 
prevent ill consequences. '^ our's, 
" Laura. 

" P. S. To avoid the appearance 
of any collusion, the bearer of this 
is directed to say, that he has 
broucfht it from your milliner." 

This was the seventh apparently 
innocent lie, to which Laura was 
induced by the consideration that 
the count might intercept her note, 
and then put Emily's frankness to 
the test, without mentioning any 
thing of its contents. 

Emily had meanwhile reached 
her home, and learned, with con- 
sternation, that her husband re- 
turned in the evening, and had 


waited for her all night. She per- 
ceived at the first glance the disa- 
greeable nature of her situation. 
"And where is he now?" cried she 
hastily. "At the coffee-house close 
by," was tlie reply. 

Glad to have gained a few mo- 
ments respite, she strove to muster 
all her courage; but before slie 
had half accomplished her purpose 
the count entered. At the first look 
he imagined that he could read his 
wife's guilt in her sudden change 
of colour. His fury was ready to 
break forth; but with great exer- 
tion he repressed it, and with dis- 
sembled serenity inquired how and 
where she had spent the night. 

"At Captain B.'s," said Emily 
stammering; "he was upon guard 
— Laura wished me to keep her 
company — the time passed away in 
reading an interesting book till it 
was much later than we thought. — 
The captain returned — and would 
have accompanied me home — but 
considering it unbecoming, I alight- 
ed at my cousin's." 

Hereshe broke off, and was silent. 
*' Then you are just come from 
your cousin's?" said the count, 
looking sternly at her. 

What was Emily to reply? She 
had stopped in her narrative; but 
why did she stop? — The confession 
of the walk would now come too 
late — the count might imag-ine that 
it was extorted by fear — he might 
wonder why she had suppressed this 
accident, which perhaps in his eyes 
might be far from seeming acciden- 
tal — besides, what risk did she run if 
she concealed from him this trifle? 
He had been all the morning at the 
coffee-house, and of course could 
not know any thing about it — and 
if she lost no time in warning her 

cousin, that they might be both in 
one story, she might thus avoid a 
scene of the most disagreeable 
kind. All these reflections, which 
flashed across her mind with the 
rapidity of lightning, induced her 
to tell tUecig/ith lie, and to answer 
the count's question — whether sh© 
was just come from her cousin's — > 
in the affirnlalive. But her Fes was 
brought out witli such hesitation, 
itso lingered half pronounced upon 
!:er lips, and her burning cheek so 
plainly said, No — that the count 
considered the infidelity of his wife 
as fully proved. The captain had 
concealed from him the very same 
point — and what was more natural 
than to attribute the circumstance 
to a concerted arrangement? 

Having eyed Emily for a moment 
with a look of supreme contempt, 
he rushed out of the room. At 
the door he met a boy bringing 
Laura's note, and angrily inquired 
his business. 

" Here is a note for the countess," 
said the boy. 
"From whom r" 
" From her milliner." 
" Give it to me. She has some- 
thing else to do just now than to 
think of caps and ribbons." 

With these words he snatched 
the note out of the boy's hand, 
doubled it up, and put it unopen- 
ed into his pocket. 

He then hurried away like a ma- 
niac, and proceeded straight to the 
captain's, where he found nobody 
at home. He took a card, upon 
which he wrote these words; — 
" Count S — expects Captain B — 
at the Golden Lion Inn, and begs 
him not to forget his sword." 

7'he Golden Lion was but a few 
paces from the captain's residence. 


Thitlier tlie count repaired, dc^iretl j 
to be shown into a back room, and ^ 
ordered a bottle of wine. In about 
hall an i.our be rani; for a second 
bottle. It was l)rou<^lit bini. 'The 
people of the bouse remarked sonie- 
tliin<^iXtraordliiary about bini ; and 
the waiter pretended to be busy in 
the room, that he nii<j;ht have an 
opporiunlly of watebinu; bis mo- 
tions. The count sat l)ititii:; ins 
nails, and spilt as much wine as he 
poured into bis glass. It was a 
considerable liaie before he was 
aware of the presence of the waiter, 
and as soon as he was sensilile of 
it, he drove him furiously out of 
the room. 

Meanwhile his last look at Emil\-, 
full of ra^^eand despair, had plung- 
ed the poor creature into the most 
cruel disiress. Impelled by pain- 
ful apprehensions, she wrote a con- 
fused note to her cousin, and ano- 
ther still more confused to the cap- 
tain, acquainting both with what 
had passed, and requesting them 
to confirm lu r account, in case her 
husband should make inquiries of 

Her cousin, with wliom Laurastill 
was, received this note, and learn- 
ed at the same time the tniscarriage 
of that which had been sent to the 
countess. Laura trembled, and 
hastily threw herself into the car- 
riage to return and warn iier hus- 
band. She came too late. I'iie 
captain hail already received the 
count's card, as well as the coun- 
tess's note, and had immediately 
repaired to the Gcdden Lion. 

He asked for the count, and was 
tishered intotheback room. Hcpo 
litely saluted the count, who, with- 
out returning his civilities, sprang 
up and ran to the door, which he 

locked. He then turned to bisanta- 
gonist, and with a tone and manner 
of the most oHensive arrogance, 
addressed him thus: — " Vou have 
assured me, sir, that you have n(<t 
seen my wife since you left her at 
her cousin's. I now ask you for 
the last time: Is that true, or not?" 

The captain was not accustomed 
to this kind ol' interrogatory. He 
grew warm, and re[)l>ed, "Sir, 
when I asstrrt a thing, ■i/oii have no 
right to doubt it." 

Thus by a //////// untruth he con- 
firmed all the preei ding ones. The 
consequence was, that the count 
furiously drew his sword, rushed 
upon him, and in a few minutes 
extended him, by a mortal uo\ind 
in tiie breast, upon the iloor. 

The people of the liouse, alarmed 
by t!ie clashing of the swords, burst 
open the door ; but it was too late. 
1 he captain was found wallowing 
inliis blood. They seized thecount, 
and sent for a surgeon. 

Tiie captain felt that he had but 
a short time to live. He entreated 
all present to leave him for a mo- 
ment alone with his adversary. The 
request of a dying man has irresli- 
ble |iower. All withdrew, and post- 
e;l themselves on the outside of the 
door, to j^revcnt the escape of the 
. count. Tlie lailer was completely 
ji himself again. The sight of the 
captain's Idood had cooled his rage 
and appeased Ids animosity. He 
fixed his lyes with deep emotion 
and j)ity ujjon his wounded anta- 
gonist, wlio, with a faint voice, 
begged him to kneel down beside 
bun, that he might hear his expir- 
ing words. 

"I am dying," said he — "believe 

the assurance of one who is on the 

! brink of the grave. Yoiir wife is 



innocent — and so am I — I forgive 
you — (pressing his band). — Hasten 
from this place — be a protector to 
my wife, and a father to n»y unborn 
infant. — Fly (pointing to the win- 
do>v which stood open) — lose no 
time — away ! away !" 

He could say no more. The 
death-rattle nearly stifled his last 
words. The count retained scarce- 
ly so much presence of mind as to 
be able to follow the advice of his 
dying friend. He leaped out of 
the window into the yard, and slip- 
ping out by a back door, threw 
himself into a hackney coach and 
escaped. Absorbed in profound 
stupor, he reached the frontiers. 
Tiicre chance decreed that Laura's 
note, which had remained forgotten 
in his pocket, should fall into his 
hands. It contained the confirma- 
tion of the innocence of his wife. 

He wrote a letter to EmiU, which 
evidently bespoke the derangement 
of his senses. He bade adieu to 
her for ever, and the unfortunate 
man has not been heard of since. 
The effect of the catastrophe upon 
Laura was a premature delivery, 
and for a long time her recovery 
was despaired of. Emily wept day 
and night by the bed-side of her 

That is the lady in the summer- 
house, who, lost in gloomy reverie, 
is tracing letters in the sand; and 
her pale companion, in deep mourn- 
ing, whose tears never cease to 
flow, is Laura. 

Thus did nine trivial and appa- 
rently innocent untruths cost an ex- 
cellent man his life, and plunge three 
estimable persons into inexpressible 


No. IX. 

What greatness, or what private hidden power, 

Is there in me, to draw submission 

From this rude man and beast? Sure I was mortal, 

And she that bore nie mortal ; prick my hand, 

And it will bleed ; a fever shakes me, and 

1 he self same wind tliat makes the young lambs shrink, 

Makes me a-cold ; my fear says I am mortal: 

Yet I have heard (my mother told it me), 

And now 1 do believe it, if I keep 

My viri(in flower u"fi(rf)|)t, pure, chaste, and fair, 

No 2;oblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend. 

Satyr, or other power that haunts (he groves, 

.Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion 

Draw me to wander after idle fires, 

Or voices calling me in de;id of night. 

To make me follow, and so tole nie on. 

Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruin ; 

F.lse why should this rough thing, who never knew 

^Manners nor smooth humanity, whose heats 

Arc rnugh.Pr than himself, and more misshapen, 

Thus mililly kneel to me? Sure there's a power 

In thHt great name of virgin, that binds fast 

All rude, uncivil bloods, all appetites 

That break their confines : then, strong Chastity, 

Tie thou my strongest guard, for here I'll dwell, 

In opposition against Fate and Hell. 

Fletcher's Faithful Shepherded). 

me relative to the origin of a cer- 
tain mysterious proverb, very fa- 
miliar to every one, respecting the 

It may be in the recollection of 
my readers, that, in a former num- 
ber, a question was addressed to 



allotment of that class of females 
clistin<^Mii.^liecl by tlie title of Old 
Maids, in a future state of exist- 
ence; and it was jjarticularly re- 
cjuested to illustrate the employ- 
ment assigned them of leading ajies 
in hell. 

I did not feel myself disposed, 
from the delicacy of the sul)jcct, 
to engage in an inquiry so ill suit- 
ed to female disquisition ; and if, 
in a vain or foolish moment, I had 
indulged an idle inclination to pur- 
sue it, I must scion have been 
checked hy experiencing a total 
disqualilicaiion for the task. I 
therefore waited till some ingeni- 
ous correspondent, skilled in that 
branch of antiquarian knowledge 
which nlatis to symbols, figureS; 
fables, and proverbs, should con- 
descend to fa\ our me w ith his opi- 
nions on the subject. 

With this determination I luive 
good reason to be satisfied, as I 
have at length received a letter re- 
lative to the inquiry, which, though 
not altogether decisive, is replete 
with ingenuity, fancy, and infor- 
mation, and throws as much light 
upon the object of investigation 
as it appears to be capable of re- 
ceiving. I am not myself one of 
those females, who, on account of 
their virgin state, are so frequentlv, 
and, I sliall add, so illiberally and 
unjustly, made a subject of jest and 
contumel} ; for I have been the wife 
of two husbands, who are gone to 
rest, and the mother of five chil- 
dren, three of whom. Heaven pro- 
tect them, I see like olive-branches 
round my table: nevertheless, I 
cannot assume it as a rightful pri- 
vilege to consider, much less to 
treat witii disrespect, any of mj- 
se.Y who have not been sul)jected 

to the laws of Hymen, or been in a 
state to fulfil the duties of a mo- 
ther. Even supposing, which how- 
ever is by no means to be taken for 
granted, that the condition of an 
old maid is of inferior estimation, 
as it is not to be attributed to her- • 
self, but to those cross accidents of 
life which it is not in her power to 
command or controul, it must be 
the height of injustice to regard it 
either with ridicule or disdiiin : 
nay, on the contrary, 1 do not hesi- 
tate to declare, tliat some of the 
most amiable and excellent women 
I have known, have been in that 
class of my sex who have borne 
their virjiin honours to the grave. 
But 1 am led from the object be- 
fore me, and therefore shall pro- 
ceed to communicate the letter, 
which will form thu interesting 
part of this paper. 



It has been an amusement 
1 of mine, from the earl}' part of my 
I life, to collect, examine, and ex- 
I plain the various proverbial sjiy- 
I ings and expressions that are pe- 
1 culiar to different countries and 
i languages, ancient and modern, as 
I well as the provincial peculiarities 
! that are found to prevail, and the 
idioms that are in habitual use in 
I the ditTerent parts of the country 
j which gave me birth. I have a large 
' folio full of my collections, and 
have sometimes felt an inclination 
I to send it to the press, as a publi- 
i! cation that n)ight be of no incon- 
siderable use to critics, commenta- 
tors, and the curious in logographic 
inquiries. Some of these prover- 
bial sayings, however, have not 
yielded, at least in a manner al- 
together satisfactory, to my re- 



searches. Among them is that which 
assigns tiie miserable occupation of 
leading apes (I will not make use 
of the horrid word generally an- 
nexed to it) in a future state of ex- 
istence. I shall, however, give you 
all the information on the subject 
which 1 liave been able to attain 
from others, with such opinions as 
my own curious and investigating 
mind has suggested to myself. 

One of my ingenious friends is 
convinced, that this predestinating 
proverb was invented and propa- 
gated by the monks, to allure opu- 
lent maiden females into the clois- 
ter, by persuading them, that as they 
were likely to become the wives of 
men,they might become the spouses 
of God, and, by such an union on 
earth, be protected from the sen- 
tence, which otherwise condemns 
them to the most rude, disgusting, 
and improvident companion that 
can well be conceived in a future 
world. This notion is too whim- 
sical, as well as trap recherche, to 
meet with my fastidious humour: 
for my part, I am rather inclined 
to rank an idea so injurious to the 
virgin character, among the dismal 
and irrational superstitions of the 
Egyptians, as I find a passage in 
Hermes Trismegistus, which states, 
that those women who die childless 
are, immediately after their death, 
tormented by demons. I must con- 
fess, however, that from the very 
high respect which the Egyptians 
entertained for the ape, the demons 
mentioned by Trismegistus could 
hardly be of that fissure. Indeed, 
the afl'ectionate adoration which 
apes have sometimes received, as 
we learn from the jjious poet Pru- 
dentins ( Teuerem precaris, compre- 
care ct sijiiiam), has, at times, led 

me to conjecture, that the saying 
in question n)ight have arisen in 
some country wiiere it bore a very 
different meainng from what we 
annex to it at present, and where 
this destiny of the ancient virgin 
was intended not as a punishment, 
but as the reward of her conti- 

I do not recollect to have seen 
the expression of leading apes in 
hell, in any English author before 
Shirley the dramatic poet, remark- 
able for the number of plays which 
he wrote, and dying, with his wife, 
of the fright occasioned by the fire 
of 1660. In his comedy called The 
School of Compliment, printed in 
1(537, there is a scene, in which, to 
humour the madness of Infortunio, 
a leading personage in the piece, 
the several characters on the stage 
pretend to be damned. Delia, 
among the rest, declares, that she 
was brought into her wretched and 
lamentable situation as the fatal 
consequence of her being a stale 
virgin, or, in the more intelligible 
phrase, an old maid, and that the 
horrid punishment assigned ■ her 
was to lead apes in hell. in-^^in: . 

But to bring the matter to some- 
thing like a conclusive opinion, I 
shall beg leave to state how I have 
reconciled this expression to my 
understanding ; or rather, w hat was 
the meaninsr intended to be an- 
nexed by the judicial ingenuity of 
the wit who first employed it. 

It would be tiie height of injus- 
tice to consider any circumstance, 
unattended with moral turpitude 
or criminal intention, as tleserving 
of punishment ; and it is altogether 
improbable, if not absolutely un- 
natural, that any female siiould vo- 
luntarily and by preference select 


J 57 

the fiiaiilen state as the contlition 
of her lite, merely as such ; nor is, 
1 presume, uu example to he found 
of a woman who could marry with 
n rational prospect of happiness, 
and, under such circumsiunces, 
turned her hack upon the alt;ir. 

Instances must have occurred to 
every one, who has advanced on the 
journey of life, where fiMnide reso- 
lution has been seen to resist the 
invitations of Hymen, from motives 
ihat (hscretion has awakened and 
reason may approve. While, on 
the other hund, it must have heen 
visihh-*, liow much misery is pro- 
duced by matrimonial connections 
Imiried on hy passion, or formed 
hy interest, in wliich neither the 
understanding nor the lieart hus 
heen duly consulted ; and, of course, 
the hapj)incss that ought to result 
from the most imj)ortant connec- 
tion of life is left to accidental 
circumstances, in which the risk 
is by no means in favour of a suc- 
cessful issue. 

I will suppose, hy wa}- of illus- 
trating my notion on the subject, 
thetwo following situations; though 
I need not slate them on supposi- 
tion, as they were familiar to my 
own observation, and the respective 
parties perfectly well known to 
myself. The one was a young lady 
of very respectable connections; 
but, in consequence of being one 
of a numerous family, her princi- | 
pal fortune was the beauty she had | 
received from nature, and tlie ac- { 
coni|;lishments which had been af- 
forded by a superior education. } 
At the age of twenty she had won j 
the regards of a young gentlctnan 
of handsome fortune; and she did i! 

not hesitate to make every return 'i 

1 1 
of regard and affection which he 

Vol. II. No. L\. 

required of her. But as his father, 
who consulted tlie fortunes rather 
than the hajipiness of his son, ob- 
jected to the consummation of his 
wishes, they could not be gratified 
till the old gentleman, who had 
lot)g been in a very declining state 
of health, was removed by death 
from forming any further obstacles 
to the pleasing prospect of connu- 
bial happiness. But in tins disap- 
pointing world, little dependance 
can be had on any thir)g vvhich is 
nut actually in our possession. 
Every thing was settled for this 
promising union ; and even the day 
was named when the ceremonial of 
the altar was to repay the happy 
pair for all their I'etirs, doubts, and 
anxieties, which they iia<l sufft-red. 
But the hatid of fate interpos( d ; 
the young man was suddenly seiz- 
ed v\ ith an illness which baffled all 
the efforts of medical skill : in short, 
he died, but gave the only proof of 
regard now in his power to the des- 
tined bride, by securing to her a 
very liberal independence. She 
lamented her loss with unbounded 
grief, and formed a resolution to 
wed herself to the grave of her 
lover, and devote herself to virgin 
solitude for his sake. Her fortune 
was sufficient to give her all the 
comforts of life ; and, in that point 
of view, she was impelled by no 
inducement to swerve from the re- 
solution she had decidedly formed. 
Five years passed, and more than 
one proposal had been rejected: 
at length, however, tlie hour of 
temptation arrived which did 'lot 
meet with the wish to resist it. A 
baronet, who was no longer a young 
man, appeared as a suitor; atid as 
he brought a title, and all its fasci- 
nating accompaniments along with 



it, she forgot the toa)o over whicli : without having tluiy considered 

the character, temper, and habits 
of th.e man whose names they as- 
sumed. Her own sister had hap- 

she liad wept, and took possession 
of a splendid aUotnient, in which 
slie soon forgot to smile. Harass- 
ed hy the peevislmess of a sick J! pened to dance with a gentleman 
husband, suspected hy Ills jealons}', !! at a public assembly, who was so 
and misruled by his tyranny, she ;' struck with her charms, that the 
sou;_2^^ht for what she could attain of j very next day he was a suitor for 
her former coud'ort by a deed of j; her hand. He happened to have 
separation ; and did not become a j a good fortune, with a handsome 
widow till, if she had even been ! person, and did not sue in vain, 
bold enough, it was too kite once ! In less than a month he leil her to 
nu)re to becon^e a wife. I tlic altar ; and in the course of an- 

The contrast to this ch.aractcr j other month she awoke from her 
will demand an e(\ual space to de- u fancied dream of iia])piness, with 
scribe it. i the melancholy conviction that she 

Marianj)e had considerable at- i should be a wretch for life. My 
tractions, and possessed a superior j; heroisie, therefore, determined to 
understanding, polished by educa- ! weigh the ujerits of any lovers she 
tion, and, which is still better, had l| might have in the scale of her own 
been subsequent!}^ improved by 'judgment, to examine well the pre- 
licrsclf. Fash.ional)le education, .1 ferences of her heart, and not to 
unfortunately, gains more and more I; let the irretrievable die be cast till 
the ascendancy over good educa- h her reason was convinced, that the 
tion ; as for one young woujan who jj chances in favour of happiness 
is brought up to fulhl the real du- jj were of a decisive character. She 
ties of tlie marriage state, as a |! had several opportunities of fulfil- 
housewite or a mother, a much \\ ing her resolution, and she coin- 
greater proportion v\iil be fouuil ; jjletely fulfilled it: i)ut th.e result 
who learn litile more than to tickle |i was, that slie urew into an Old 
the keys of a pdano-forte, to thrum ! Maid. As she never became a 
the strings of a harp, to sing, to j| wife, she consequently never be- 
(lance, to babble a foreign Ian- ji came a mother; but the maternal 
guage, with at most a little needle- i duties she exercised fur many years 
work and embroidery ; in short, to 1, with exemplary care and alTection. 
make themselves dolls for a baby- | Her sister, whose days were sup- 

man to 'play witiia!. Marianne, 
liov\ever, had all tlie former, and 
all that was essential to the latter; 
but she had fcjrmed certain notions 
of matrimonial happinCss v.hich 
were not conhned to the mere 
liavingofa husl>and. She- had()h- 
scrved among her feniale acquiiint- 
ance iiow lew oi thent had improv- 
ed their condition by Qoiu" to the 
altar and changing tlieir nanus, 

posed to have been shortened by 
the base treatment of a profligate 
husband, rtcp^ested, on her dying 
pillow, her tluee female chil- 
dren, who were then young, might 
be consigned to the care of tlieir 
uu\iiU;n aunt. ^''Iiis hist entreaty 
was complied u iih, and iheir maid- 
en aunt euiploved ail the years 
which they re(|uircd to make them 
ihe oruamenis of their sex and 



thcirnaturc. When slit- introduced i perform tliat ofHce tipon the pro 

them into the world, at the age 
when it is proper that they should 
appci.r there, they were the adnii 

posed conditions. 

Tlie ladies, however, had one vir- 
tue; they uiaintained their re>p(c- 

r;uiou of all who beheld them. I tive resolutions, consequently he- 
Such a woman as this, Old Maid j came Ol.n IVLmos tor their lolly, 
as she was, ought not surely to he i and deserve to Uad apes in liell. 
sentenced to feadapesin licll. \ But why, it may be said, of all 

What then are the characters — j the beasts of the forest, arc apei se- 
for proverbs, fitiurative as they may ; lected as the associates of tMs pu- 
be,aregenerally founded i!i justice, ij "islmient? 1 have only lo c(jnjec- 
and are the olVspring of experi- j tm'e, that for tiie whimsical \\., uk- 
euce— what then, I say, are the ! uess, to say no more of such ancient 
characters to whose ancient vir<iin- i misses as 1 have described, in rc- 
ity punislnnent might be justly ap- \ fusing rational marriage with a-an. 

plied r I will endeavour to tell you. 
Sophia had i'ormed a resolution 

they are proverbially condemned 
to tlie society of that animal who 

never to niarry, unless the ardent ; l)ears the most disgusting resem- 
proposition of love was accompa- \ bianco ol him. 

nied with a title; and a title never 
presented itself. 

But to console the amiable, sen- 
sible, and which may be consiu. red 

Lconovn was convinced, that she i as the uniortunate class of the 
should be disgraced il' her bride- ( maiden sisterhood, 1 shall concUide 
groom did not take her to church : vvith the sentiments of a distin- 
in his coach and four; and no one guished poet, who seems to have 
appeared to make her that oiler but been inlluenced by what he felt, 
in a carriage aiul pair. |, as a humane wish to make some 

Henrietta had formed the deter- '■ amends lor the insult of this inju- 
mined whimsey to make it an es- 11 1'ious proverb, by assigning a place 
sential in the gentleman whom she 'j to old maids of the better descrtp- 
vvojild I'avour with her hand, that j lion in his poetical elysium. 
lie should be in a rank of life to 
render it necessary for her to be ; "Tun. to this clur,fui hand, and mark in ibs 

, ' , , Suit its \«\.<) iiistly t'laiin niv rralins iif bl«»t> ! 

presented at court ; but cour- .T , , , ,. . i •' i ■ i 

I ' Most lovi ly (l<t'>t I wlieii jiiil-i-il l»y t;<iu-rom 

tiers proceeded no further tlian ' (nuii, 

compliments and COU<rcCS^ and, in Thoupli bcmly is not tluiis, imr bioomiii? 

their addresses to her, not an hy- i >«utli; 

, . I I II Tor I litsc are liicv.whi), ill life's ll.orny !.!i:iili', 

mcneal expression escaped them, ii „,,,„,.,„„ ,,„,., ,..;, „,..,, „f ,„..u„t n,a;.i 

Litfere/la, my fourth and last, !| yo pn.ud <risilain, no narrownes'; ofhiair, 
who piqued herself upon her epis- |! (leld tlien* from llj nun's Kmptni«;rU.-s apart, 

t.dary writing, and had more cor- : Uui fair L'« loi , hem ,» w, 

■^ 1 1 il From tlic |Miz«il lif>:i<iiir o| Ins profit r «l law; 

respondents than any young lady f to quit (Ik- object of no hasty d.o,.., 
of her age, or perhaps any age, in ' in miui submishion lo a paienTs voice, 
the kingdom, determined never to \' The^ahid ioifiwitii u resie.., 

.„„„ I 1 I .. r 1 il And saciitice (Iili^hl at Duty's slirine. 

marry a man who could not frank . , , r ' , 

, , I With smiUs tli^y boic, from an^ry spleen 

lier letters; and neither peer nor '| ivrmni, 

member of parliament appeared to I Impcrions moclccryand coarse contcmiitj . 

Y -2 



'Twas tliciis to clasp, each selfish care above, 

A sister's orphnns witli pureiual love, 

And n.ll lier tender odices supply, 

Though huuiid not liy the atrong nialcrnal tie; 

'Twas theirs to hid intestine quarrels cease, 

And form the ceuienl of domestic peace : 

No throhhing joy their spotless bosom fii'd. 

Save « liat Benevolence herself inspired ; 

No praise they sought, except that praise 

Which the heart whispers to the worthy mind. 

A CURIOUS Inquireu. 


The valley of Chamoiini is situ- 
ated in the province of Faussigny, 
which belongs to Savoy, and while 
that country was incorporated with 
the French empire, fornied a por- 
tion of the department of Lentian. 
On the south it is separated from 
Italy by the lofty range of Mont 
Blanc; iMont Breven and the Ai- 
guilles Rouges form its north side; 
on the east, towards the Valais, it 
is bounded by the Col de Balme, 
and on the west by Mont Lacha. 
From north-east to south-west it is 
from 15 to 20 miles in length, and 
not more than one in breadth. 

The Arve rises at the foot of the 
Col de Balme, and in its course 
collects the streams that issue 
from various glaciers around Mont 
Blanc; it traverses the whole val- 
ley longitudinally, and quitting it 
at the foot of Mont Lacha, dis- 
charges its turbid current into the 
Rhone, not far from Geneva. 

There is no access to this valley 
except by the two ends. The road 
which leads from Genevato its lower 
part, being the better of the two, is 
most frequented. Beyond Salenche, 
where carriages are left, it is, how- 
ever, passable only for small light 
vehicles, called cliars a banc, which 
are taken to pieces by the drivers 
at bad parts of the road, and after- 
wards put together again. When 
the traveller lias passed the plain 
of Salenche, the road rises at the 
village of Chede, and again de- 


I scends near the forges of Servos^ 
I towards the Arve, which is crossed 
! by the bridge of Pelissier: on the 
I other side the road again rises above 
! the river, and still more at the foot 
1 of Mont Lacha. This last portion 
of it is uncommonly wild. Be- 
tween overlianging rocks and be- 
neath lofty pines, the whitish waters 
of the Arve dash foaming into a 
deep chasm. Mont Blanc, whose 
summit is at first visible on the left, 
now presents its whole form, so 
that you see it at a little distance 
before 3'ou. The glaciers of La 
Griaand Taconnay, which appear 
suspended between prodigious 
ridges of rocks over the head of the 
traveller, seem to threaten the vil- 
lages built at their foot with inevi- 
table destruction. Here the valley 
of Chamouni is first discovered on 
the left. Its cheerful aspect forms 
an extraordinary contrast to the 
wild country which you have just 
traversed. The whole valley gra- 
dually opens; the Arve inclines 
sometimes to one side, sometimes 
to the other; it is diversified with 
fine arable land, charming pastures 
and meadows, and villages planted 
with shady trees. The magnificent 
glacier of Bosson, and farther on 
the ice-field of Bois, descend com- 
pletely into the valley ; their azure 
spires overtop the summits of the 
pines by which the}' are accompa- 
nied to the limits of vegetation, 
where nothins: but naked block* 



of granite vary the surface of the 

F'roni the upper extremity of the 
valley two roads lead Irom Cha- 
mouni into the Valais, but both are 
imp;issable even for the lightest 
carriage. They commence at the 
village of Argentiere, two leagues 
from the Prieure; the one runs to 
the left, througli Vah'ihne, over 
the Tete Noire; the other, which 
is the longer of the two, leads 
through tlie vilUige of 7\)ur, tlou n 
a steep declivity, to the Col de 
Balme. A little eminence by tlie 
roa<l-side, 1181 fathoms above the 
surface of the M.a, presents one of 
the most delightful distant views 
of the Alps. Towards the Valais, 
you see its extensive plain, and the 
lon^^ chain of inaccessible glaciers 
and rocks by which it is bounded, 
and which terminates at Mount Fur- j 
ka, at the distance of 30 leagues. I 
On tlie other side the eye rests upon ; 
the gigantic figure of Mont Blanc : i 
the less elevated peaks vvb.ich sur- ' 
round It, seem designed merely to ; 
make it appear more lofty by com- i 
parison ; as the immeasurable fields I 
of ice that encircle it, and extend 
in long branches into the valley, 
appear destined to complete its 
magnificent outline. At its feet is 
spread the valley of Ciiamouni, in 
which you discern Argentiere, 
Tmnes, several others of its vil- 
lages, and the Prieurt'. 

Both roads lead to the village of 
Trient, where the traveller crosses 
the Forclas, 77S fathoms above the 
level of the sea, and descends to 
Martinach. Persons going from 
Franceby theroad of tlie Simplon to 
Italy, are not unfrequently induc- 
ed to make an excursion from this 
place, which is only nine leagues 

from Ciiamouni, over the Forclas 
and the Col de Balme, to the gla- 

In the middle of the valley is its 
capital, Ciiamouni, or the Prieure : 
from this village the more distant 
excursions are undertaken. Tra- 
vellers here find clean inns and 
good attendance, rarely met with, 
except in towns, and not expected 
in so sequestered a spot. 

The medium tenip^.ratureof the 
valley of Ciiamouni, which is 52^ 
fathoms above the surface of the 
sea, and at the foot of mountains 
covered with evcrlastiiio- snow, is 
cold and unfavourable to agricul- 
ture; no wheat is sown there, tiie 
only kinds of corn being barley 
and oats: potatoes yield an aljiin- 
dant produce; flax thrives reniark- 
alily well ; and the honey is deli- 
cately white and of an arontatic 
flavour. A peculiar advantage pos- 
sessed by the soil of this valley, 
consists in the facility with which, 
after it has been several years under 
corn, it is converted into natural 
meadows, probably owing to the 
fertilizing humidity which is kept 
up by the vicinity of the mountains. 

Few kinds of fruit-trees thrive in 
the valley of Ciiamouni. The sum- 
mer is too short, and the night 
frosts too common, to allow the 
young stocks to acquire sufficient 
strength to resist the severe cold 
of winter. The shortness of the 
summer has occasioned a remarka- 
ble practice for hastening the melt- 
ing of the snow, when its great 
accumulation would otherwise de- 
lay the labours of the field: upon 
the snow whicii covers the field in- 
tended to be sown, the inhabitants 
strew black mould, which, by ab- 
sorbing the sun's rays in greater 



qirintitv, promotes ilie meking of 
liie snow, aiiu lims forwards the 
operaiioiis of uc^riculture a fort 
night or three weeks. 

Cattle constitute the chief wealth 
of the people of Chamouni: thus 
the properly of each is calculated 
hv (he nunii)er of cows he can keep 
ill winter. In sunnner th.e horned 
cattle feed in the numerous com- 
mon pastures, wliose vegetation is 
shehered hy the mountains that in- 
close thevati.y: hut for their sup- 
port during tlie long and severe 
winter, a considerahle stock of hay, 
an I consequently a jjroportionate 
extciu of meadow, is required. The 
few mules that are met with in 
the valley, are kept for the service 
of travellers and for tlie convey- 
ance of gooLis. For some years 
past sheep iiave lieen hred here, 
and tliey thrive verv well. 

Tiie iirst visit of public notoriety 
to tliis remarkahle valley took place 
in 1711, Th.e celeln-ated traveller 
Pococke, after his return from the 
East, and another Englishman, 
named ^Vindham, discovered this 
till then unknown region. The 
inhabitants of the valley of Cha- 
mouni had previously been consi- 
dered in tlie light of savages, and 
'Mont Blanc, with the surroundincr 
peaks, were denominated — the ac- 
cursed nujuntains. 

About 1700 it iiegan to be more 
conmionly visited, and the inter- 
esting account of M. de Saussure 
rendered it generally known, so 
that now it is perhaps one of the 
most frequented tracts in Europe. 

The inliabitants of Chamouni 
were distinguished by purity and 
simj)licity of manners, but the in- 
creased intercourse with strangers 
has produced a cliange tor tlie 
worse. The money introduced by 
these means lias taught them the 
value of that commodity, and ex- 
cited a desire to obtain it: but still 
the people of the valley are honest, 
kind, and courteous to travellers, 
from whom they derive much use- 
ful knowledge. 7'h.eir conversa- 
tion is in general agreeal)le, and 
many of tliem possess a very mi- 
nute acqaintance with t!ie natural 
relations of their country. 

Though not of large stature, these 
people are well made and robust: 
they are seen with light and sure 
step ascending and descending, un- 
der considerable burdens, steep 
paths, where aforeiirner could not 
follow without trembling. Tlie wo- 
men too are strongly built: it is 
they who perform most of the la- 
bours of the field, wiiile the men 
are engaged in tending the flocks 
on the neighbouring mountains, 
or in accompanying travellers as 
guides. Tiiese, however, are not 
the only employments of the men : 
some of them go in summer to the 
country of Tarantaise and the val- 
ley of Aosta, to makecheese; others 
wander to still more distant parts; 
and those who remain at home, 
ascend the lofty mountains and the 
upper parts of the glaciers, to col- 
lect crystals, rare stones, plants, 
or insects. 


TliK small island of Sark, siiuat- 11 gem by which the English recover- 
ed between Guernsey and Jersey, ji ed possession of it from France, 
is but little known ; and the strata- || perhaps still less so. 

Dr.scKir rioN or nii': island or sahk. 


The islaiul ot" Sark is siiunlcil I, {luctii yiekletl to liis im|)ortnni!y ; 
about four leagues to the somli-cast I and he j)ut to sta v\iili a liuiulred 
of Gucnisev, in the centre of that resoUitc men, and after cruizin;^ u- 

elusier of islands which lie o|)po- 
site to the coast of I'ranee. As 
these ishinds formed i)ait of the 
diiciiy of Normandy at the licne of 
the Conqueror's invasion, they be- 
came of course tlepcndtncies on 
the Knglish ( ri>\\ n ; to which, with 
little interrupiijn, llicy have ever 
since beh)nj.i;ed. In the year 1549 

vvlule u|) and down, eanu; antl hav 
before this island, in the character 
ol a homeward-bound nurchant- 
uian, and sending in his boat with 
several taking cominoilities, three 
or four of his men were suffered to 
land. With these the |)eople trad- 
ed for a day or two with much 
amity; and then they told the is- 

th(.' Krench |)ossesseil themselves of 1 landers, that having been a long 
the iNhuul of Sark; wh.ere they built |j trading voyage to the Straits, tluir 
forts, and kept it for some years. |; master, who died latelv, had en- 
It was, however, recovered by an j gaged them not to tlirow his corpse 
English captain, by means of a ij overboard, but inter it with Chris- 
stratagem not less singular and sue- , lian burial in the very place where 

eessful, than that of llie celebrated 
'I'rojan h.orse. 

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 

they should first Knicli ground : 
therefore they desirt^d i!ie Chris- 
tian favour of them, that they might 

the islatul of Sark being wholly ji lay him in their church-vard, and 
possessed by the trench, of which j that a few of thein might be pcr- 
iiation are most of the inhabitants ij mitted to come on shore, w.ithotit 
to tliis day, a sea captain, apjjre- jiany arms, to perform the ceren'ony. 
bending that its neighbourhood, ii j The credulous ])eople consented; 
it continued in French hands, might j our captain and about twenty of his 
one time or other be of jll coiise- i stoutest men, with a eoliin, and 
tiuence to Jersey and Guernsey, li much seeming solemnity, went on 
.the only remaining trophies of our li shore, the natives assisting them to 

Erench coiup.iests and possessions, 
solicited of tlie cjueen a commission 
to reduce it to her obedience. Her 
IVIajesty toUl him, that the ])lace 
was so small, and the attempt so 
hazardous, that she feared the loss 
of men would be more damage, 

get their coffin up the precipice; 
l)ut no sooner were they arrived at 
the church, than cla|)j)ing to tiu* 
door, as if they had some private 
devotions to celebrate, at which 
the inhabitants might not be pre- 
sent, they opened the coffin, tilled. 

than its taking would be of advan- li instead of a corjjse, with instruments 
tage: for you must note, that the! of death; and arming themselves 
passage down to La Soguion was in an instant, killed thesmall French 
not made, nor did it appear half so I guard that oll'cred to resist, fetch- 
accessible as it does now. But our I ing more of their company from 
captain replied, " if her Ma- the landing-place, and in five hours 
jesty would give him command and time, without the loss of one man, 
necessaries, he durst assure her he mailc themselves mnsttrs of ilie 
would set Eniilish colours there, whole island, which has ever since 
witaout the loss of a man." The i boasted the honour ot being part; 



of the dominions of the English 

Ti\is island is not above five 
miles in length, and three where 
broadest, the number of inhabit- 
ants scarcely exceeding four hun- 
dred peoj)l8; it consequently can 
be no temptation to the ambition 
of any prince: yet nature, as if she 
bad stored up some extraordinary 
treasure there, seems to have been 
very solicitous to render it impreg- 
nable by the vast rocks and mighty 
cliffs all around it, whose craggy 
tops, braving the clouds, bid defi- 
ance to all that dream of forcing an 
entrance. There are only two pas- 
sages or ascents to it. The first, 
where all goods or commodities are 
received, is called La Soguion. 
This curious passage was cut by 
order of Philip de Carteret, Lord 
of St. Ouen, in Jersey, to whom 
Queen Elizabeth granted it soon 
after its recovery from the French, 
to be held by him and his heirs of 
the crown, under a sriiall acknow- 
ledgment. Here, for a consider- 
able space, through a solid rock, a 
cart-way is cut down to the sea, 
with two strong gates for its de- 
fence, wherein most of the stores 
are kept for navigation, and two 
pieces of ordnance are always 
planted above to prevent surprise. 
The other passage is called La 
Fricherc'e, where only passengers 
can land, who are obliged to climb 
up one at a time by certain steps 
cut in the ascent to a vast height, 
and not without some danger. — 
The air is serene : there is not a 
physician on the island, yet the 

people in general live to a good 
old age. Their water is good. The 
soil is in geiieral sandy, yet fruitful 
in producing every necessary for 
the inhabitants, particularly roots. 
They are well stored with apples, 
of which they make excellent cy- 
der. Corn they have of most kinds, 
but not in any great quantity ; 
their pasture is short, but sweet ; 
their mutton excellent, but their 
black cattle in no great numbers. 
Their firing is furze and turf. Fish, 
fowl, and rabbits form their prin- 
cipal food, and are all good of their 
kind. The garrison consists of 
forty soldiers, under the command 
of a captain, maintained by con- 
tribution of the inhabitants. The 
court of judicature consists of one 
judge, a provost, and five burghers. 
They meet every Tuesday, and, 
without any tedious formalities, in- 
tricate demurrers, wire-drawn ar- : 
guments, or writs of error, deter- 
mine all causes according to th6?K,'i 
mother wit and grave discretiony! 
except in cases of life and death, 
when the criminals are immediate-- 
ly sent away for trial and punislix 
ment to Guernsey. Their princi- 
pal trade is knitting stockings, 
gloves, caps, and waistcoats ; in 
which men, women, and children 
are all employed, to the number 
often of thirty or forty in a body, 
knitting and singing together in 
a barn. These articles they trade^v 
with to England, and in return pro- 
vide themselves with every neces- 
sary they have occasion for. 



ij -'&ii& 



The spacious palace of White- | five smaller : bLtucen two of the 
hall was originally built by Hubert latter a beautiful circus, with an 
<ie Burgh, Earl of Kent, the great i arcade below; the intervening 
and persecuted justiciary of Eng- j pillars oriiauiented with caryatides, 
land, in the reign of Henry IlL [The length of this palace was to 
He bequeathed it to the Black j have been 1152 feet, and the depth 
Friars in Holl)orn, and they dis- I 874. 

posed of it in 1248 to Walter de ! Little did James imagine, when 
Grey, Archbishop of York. It be- he was erecting this pile, that here 
came for centuries the residence !, his son was to step from the throne 
of the prelates of that city, and ' to the scaffold. He was brought, 
was styled York-House. Here |j on tlie rnoiMiing of his death, from 
Wolsey took his final leave ofi'St. James's, across the Park, to 
greatness; and by his forfeiture it Whitehall, where, ascending the 
passed into the hands of his rapa- 
cious master. As the ancient pa- 
lace of Westminster had some time 
before sufl'ered much from fire, 
that of Whitehall became the re- 
sidence of the British monarchs, 
till it was almost wholly destroyed 
by the same element in 1697. 

In the time of James I. White- 
hall wau in a most ruinous state. 
He determined to rebuild it in a 

I great staircase, he passed through 

I the long gallery to his bed-cham- 

! ber. Here he was allowed to pass 

a short time before he received 

the fatal stroke. He was thence 

conducted alojig the galleries and 

j the Banqueting- House, through 

; the wall, in which a passage was 

broken, to his last earthly stage. 

At the time of the king's death, 

' contiguous to the Banqueting- 

princely manner, and to make it j House was a large building, with 
worthy of being the residence of l| a long roof, and a small cupola 
the sovereigns of the British em- rising out of the middle. From a 
pire. He began with pulling down |, complete plan of the whole edi- 
the banqueting-rooms erected by fice, taken in 1680 by John Fisher, 
Queen Elizabeth. The structure, j and engraved in 1747 by Vertue, 
which now bears that name, was I it appears that it extended along- 
commenced in 1619, from a design the river, and in front along the 
of Inigo Jones, in his purest man- ' present Parliament -street and 
ner, and executed by Nicholas ! Whitehall as far as Scotland-yard, 
iStone, master-mason and archi- and on the other side of those 

tect to the king. It was finished 
in two years, and cost 17,000/.; 
but was only a small part of a vast 

streets to the turning into Spring 
Gard'^n, looking into St. James's 
Park. In the time of Charles II. 

plan, left unexecuted on account | and James II. not only all the 
of the unhappy times which sue- ji branches of the royal family, but 

ceeded. It was to have consisted 
of four fronts, each with an entrance 
between two fine square towers : 
within, a large central court and 
rol. II No. JX. 

likewise the whole court and all 
their attendants, found accommo- 
dation within its walls. 

The Banqueting -House, the 



only remaining relic of tins abode j 
of royalty, has, for upwards of a j 
century, been converted into a 
chapel. The ceiling of this noble j 
room cannot be sufficiently ad- '; 
inired. It was painted by Rubens, 
who was paid 3000/. for his work, j 
in the execution of which he is ' 
said to have been assisted by his 
pupil Jordaens. The subject is 
the apotlicosis of James I. in nine 
compartments. One of the mid- 
die represents the pacific monarch 
on his earthly throne, turning with 
horror from Mars and other dei- 
ties of discord ; and, as it were, giv- 
ing himself up to the amiable god- 
dess whom he always worshipped, 
and to her attendants. Commerce 
and the Fine Arts. This noble per- 
formance is painted upon canvas, 
and is in good preservation ; but 
some years since it underwent a 
repair from the hand of Cipriani, 
who is reported to have been paid 
2000A for his trouble. The altar- 
piece, but ill suited to the style of 
the rjlace.was carried thither from 

the old palace, having escaped the 
fire which destroyed that building, 
and was the gift of Queen Anne. 
Near the entrance is a bronze bust 
of the royal founder, larger than 

This building has of late years 
acquired additional interest as the 
place where the trophies, so nobly 
wrested by British valour from an 
enemy who arrogated to himself 
the title of invincible, are deposit- 
ed. To us it appears a question 
worthy of serious consideration, 
whether a much greater effect 
would not be produced by pre- 
serving these, and all other glo- 
rious memorials of our victories, 
in a structure open every day, and 
every hour of the day, to the gra- 
tuitous inspection of all classes of 
our countrymen. They would 
surely, in this case, be much more 
likely to excite that glow of pa- 
triotism, and to cherish that mili- 
tary ardour, which it is often of the 
highest importance to the state to 
1 inPiume and encourage. 

Fantasia^ in zvltich is. introduced 
the Air of " The Captive to his 
Bird,''^ arranged and composed for 
the Piano- Forte, inscribed to Ma- 
dome Marconi, by A. A. Klengel. 
Op. 19. Pr. 3s. 6d. 
The air, " The Captive to his 
Bird," althougii more particularly 
and authentically introduced in the 
third movement, forms the ground- 
work of all the various pieces con- 
stituting this fantasia. It is dis- 
tinctly shewn in the introductory 
adagio, ill the two aliegros, the 
larglietto, t!ie p<)l;vcca, and in the 
concluding quick movement; so 


tiiat the whole resembles a set of 
free and irregular variations upon 
the before-mentioned theme. To 
say that in all these fine taste and 
consummate talent are alike per- 
ceptible, is but a repetition of the 
praises which former works of this 
auilior liave copiously demanded 
at our hands ; while, on the other 
hand, a detailed analysis of a work 
of this kind would far exceed our 
space. Among the more promi- 
nent e.xrellencies, however, of this 
production of Mr. K.'s niuse, we 
may justly number the able har- 
monic treatment of the air itself in 



tlie andante, /). 3, especially with 
regard to the su|)|)oit oF the left 
liand ; as also the energetic allegro, 
p.i, the peculiar character of which 
alVords scope to matured executive 
jjroficicncy. The larghetto, p. 6, 
distinguishes itself above all, in 
point of scientific contrivance, the 
subject of the air being thrown 
into the shape of a canon, with con- 
trary motion, a device which has 
led to the employment of much 
elegant contrapuntal arrangement. 
The succeeding polacca, and par- 
ticularly its trio in minor key, evince 
the utmost delicacy of expression, 
blended with occasional display of 
chromatic digression. In the last 
movement, p. 12 (a kind of coda), 
we also observe some very select 
modulations, preparatory to a tine 
cadence ; after which, a short pres- 
to resumes the air, and tertjiinates 
the fantasia with striking eflect. 
" 2'he Chough and Crow to roost are 
gone,'"' the celebrated Gipsey Glee 
and Chorns, filing in the musical 
Play of Guy Mannering, or The 
Gipsey^s Prophecy, composed by 
Henry R. Bishop. Pr. 3s. 
Besides the tliree principal voices, 
two trebles and one bass, for which 
this glee is set, there is a chorus of 

able arrangement of the parts, and 
the active instrumental accompa- 
niments, produce an excellent ef- 
fect. After this the second so- 
prano falls in with a solo, equally 
suited to the character of the poe- 
try, and is followed by tlie chorus; 
and, lastl}', the bass enters upon a 
solo in its turn, the energy an4 
boldness of which are very conspi- 
cuous, and the piece is wound up 
by the chorus. In the whole of this 
composition, we observe, on the 
one hand, the most just conception 
of the text; and, on the other, an 
inventive originality, guided by 
matured talent and knowledge of 
musical stage eQect. 
" The (Vinds zchistle cold^'' Glee in 
the musical Play called Guy Man- 
tiering, performed at the Theatre 
lioyal Covent-Gardeif, composed 
by H. II. Bishop. Pr. 2s. 6d. 
This glee is set for three voices, 
an alto, tenor, and bass, and consi- 
derably resembles the one belbre 
noticed, in style and arrangement. 
Its opening movement, too, appears 
to us preferably attractive; it pos- 
sesses a s'.\ eet simplicity of melod v, 
eminently adapted to a rich har- 
monical support, and well relieved 
bv the blunt and enerj^eiic solos of 

four and five parts intervening be- I the bass voice which occasionally 
tweeu the parts assigned to the ; intervene. The choruses in this 
former; but the whole of this com- i! glee are limited to three staves, so 

position may also be had arranged i 
for three voices only. The open- [ 
ing part allotted to the first treble j 
sets out with a highly interesting 
subject, and proceeds through se- 
veral select and striking passages, 
which have the merit of corre- 
sponding eminently with the im- 
pressive text of the poetrv. The 

tiiat the whole, as it stands, may be 

executed by three voices. 

A tcell-known favourite Theme bif 
A. Mozart, rcilh six new I aria- 
lionx, composed for the Harp, with 
a iiolin or Flute Accompaniment, 
dedicated to Peter Krard, Esq. 
by J. B. Mayer. Pr. 4s.6d. 
It would be difficult to name a 

chorus then interposes, and its wild theme better adapted to variations, 
f^nd original melody, as well as the '' than thesimple and neat melodv of 

Z 2 


MUSICAL Review; 

Mozart which Mr. M. has chosen 
for his subject, and which he has 
treated with his usual success iii 
compositions of this kind. The 
first variation is conspicuous by the 
natural flow of the melody under a 
more expanded form, and by some 
good inner parts. In the second 
and third we are presented with a 
variety ol interesting semiquaver 
and triplet passages ; in the fourth 
the left hand is set in harmonic 
sounds. The fifth demands notice 
on account of the very effective 
bass support; and the sixth, and 
last, what with some showy pas- 
sages, crossing of hands, and its 
little " codina," arrives at a proper 
and well-wrought conclusion. Mr. 
Mayer's numerous variations, be- 
sides the good taste which pervades 
them, have invariably the merit of 
keeping true to the theme, without 
deviating, as is but too often the 
case, into all kinds of far-fetched 
extravagancies and concetti. 
The Brunswick Waltzes, composed , 
'^'- and dedicated with Permission, to 
<'• his Royal Highness the Duke of 
^ Sussexj by Miss Belina Grimani. 
^^-Op.5. Pr.os. V ->\v\r^ 

As pieces for the piatno-forte, 
without reference to their aptitude 
for the ball-room, these waltzes, 
eight in number, are entitled to 
much commendation : their style 
is rather noy el, and the ideas in 
general are select and tasteful, al- 
though, in some cases perhaps, a 
little too recherchees aivd artificial : 
hence the performer will here and 
there meet with calls upon con- 
'piderable executive proficiency. 
Among these practical difficulties 
stands foremost Miss G.'s favourite 
-'-'liiode of bass accompaniment, by 
ieips of the left hand from the 

lower dctswe to 4 higher fifth or 
sixth. To be possessed of the knack 
of this digital manoeuvre, require* 
not a little special training. This 
sort of waltz accompaniment seems 
at present to be much in fashion 
among the Germans; and the per- 
formance of these waltzes by a lady 

of that country, Miss K -1, has 

brought us acquainted with tliem 
to tl>e bestadvantaije. -'"' 

Rondo for the Piano- Forte^ com^ 
posed, and inscribed by Permission 
to Miss Charlotte Cripps, by Ca- 
roline Kerb}'. Pr. 2s. 6d. 
Like the literary labours of the 
fair sex^ which, generally spealc- 
ing, produce rather what is call- 
ed light reading than subjects of 
profound meditation ; Miss K.*s 
rondo before us steers perfectly 
clear of any thing which could be 
deemed bordering on the higher 
and scientific walks of composition ; 
i while, on the other hand, the au- 
thoress has succeeded in preparing 
musical food of easy digestion, and 
; pleasing to the taste. The subject 
i of the rondo is lightsome and pret- 
|ty; it is agreeably varied in the 
second page; crossed hands are 
effectively introduced p. 3; in the 
i fourth we are presented with an 
I appropriate minore and cadence : 
' in short, the whole of the move- 
j ment is well put together, aptly 
I harmonized upon the whole, and, 
\ in all respects, proper for the prac- 
I tice of students of moderate profi- 
i ciency^^- '^f<- b'-a^i' S'ed „ .w 
■ A third Air, with Variations, for 
I the Piano-Forte^ composed, and 
dedicated by Permission to the 
Hon. Miss Murray, by J. F. Bur- 
rowes. Pr. 2s. 6d. 
The theme which Mr. B has de- 
vised for his variations, is a very 



interestitrg andantino of regular ] rough knowledge of musical $ci- 
coustiuction (eight bars in each ence. The latter <iualilication3 are 
part), except that in the exposition j fully evinced in the composition of 
of the theme an amplification of 11 this concerto, which consists of an 
two bars occurs at the end of the allegro in one sharp, an adagio in 
second part; which are, however, j| two sharps, and a polacca in one 
dropped in the variations. The '| sharp. To give an idea of tlxe iu- 
variatiuns demand our highest aj)- 'i finite variety of beautiful solos 
probation ; tljey exhibit great in- ! ivhich tliese iliree movements con- 
ventive facility, and certainly add I tain, would be as tedious as useless 
considerably to the opinion we had i to our readers. They must be 
formed from prior works of Mr. I heard to be appreciated. Tliesub- 
B.'s abilities as a harmonist. We jects of the movements are select 
can plainly perceive the careful | and higiily interesting, and the 
attention which has been exercised / lutfii; as far as perusal enables ns 
to avoid crudities of any kind. I to judge, are elegant and effective. 

Without particularizing the indi- 
vidual nicrits of each variation, 

The motivo of the polacca appears 
to us particularly novel and agree- 

every one of which possesses pecu- I able.noj^o'oro'} tft«»' 

liar features of interest, we shall ' Sandersoyi^s Studi/ of (lie Bow aitd 

only add our testimony as to the 
extreme aptitude of these varia- 
tions for the desk of not only the 
advanced student, but of even 
scholars of limited abilities. ■,]*, 
vlr No. de la Souscription. Trmsitifne 
f Concerto pour in Fiute, aiec Ac- 
compagneinent de Grand Orclies- 
trCy compose, et dedit a Madame 
ri- Catalani, par L. Drouet, pre- 
miere ilute de la Chapellc du Rot 
de France. Op. 19. Pr. 12s. 

Fini^er- Board, hein^Jifly five Va- 
riations upon a TJiemCj wherein 
, are displai/ed a great lariety of 
dijturent bcxiiug and /ingering ac- 
^-r'^H>rdiug tQ the modern School, in- 
tended for the Practice and Im~ 
piwemcnt of Amateurs and young 
Professors of' the f'iolin, zciih an 
jJccompaniment, ad lib. composed^ 
and dedicated by Permission to 
JPilliam Shield, Esq. by James 
.Sanderson. Pr. 8s. 
We have perused and examined 

I) In introducing this concerto to,} 
the notice of our readers, we must 'this laborious work with great sa- 
premise, that we have not had the ij tisfaction, and we sincerely hope it 
advantage of hearing it executed, {will, as it ought to do, tend to en- 
and that our opinion is consequent- ',, courage the study of the violin, an 
ly tlie result of mere ocular inspec- j[ instrument rather neglected of late 
tion of the work before us. Those l| in this country, among amateurs at 
who have heard the astonishing i| least, although the most perfect, 
powers of Mr. Drouet on the above- |j elegant, and essential of all musi- 

l.named instrument, must have felt ' cal instruments. ^V'e are fully 
convinced, that his talents are not ' sensible of the difficulty of the 

only of a practical description, 

but that his celebrit}^ as a player is 

-the joint result of mechanical per- 

'. fection, elegant taste^ and a tho- 

j task of writing a work of this kind, 
and, above all, of embodying every 
desirable feature of instruction in 
fifty-five variations upon one^lmme; 



and we are thererore tlie more dis- 
posed to pay our tribute of cordial 
approbation to the masterly man- 
ner in vvliicli the task has been per- 
formed. It would perhaps have 
been more agreeable to the pupil, 
to have chosen several (liferent sub- 
jects for these numerous variations, 
and yet equally possible to convey 
the same quantum of instruction ; 
but the preservation of the same 
subject, on tlie other hand, tends 
to point out more forcibly the dif- 
ference in the mechanical treat- 
mentand execution of the passages. 
In the latter respect, Mr. S. has 
very properly left little or nothing 
to tlie instinctive guess of the 
learner : be^.ides indicating the 
lingers, as well as the different 
evolutions of the bow, by means of 
the usual signs, concise and appro- 
priate directions are given with 
every variation, to explain its cha- 
racter, a!)d the peculiarities to be 
obaerved in its execution. The 
accompaniment of a second part 

weconsider a very proper addition 
to the work: it is extremely ele- 
gant and effective, 
A Military Divertimento for the 
Piano- Forte, composed, and dedi- 
cated to Miss Fanny Cooke, by 
Joseph Sharp. Pr. 2s. 6d. 
This divertimento consists of a 
march and a quick movement in 
the waltz style, both in three fiats, 
and both evidently devised and ar- 
ranged to meet the sphere of the 
less advanced pupil. To this ob- 
ject we are inclined to ascribe the 
plainiiess of accompaninient parti- 
cularly observable in the march. 
I'he subject of the waltz is very 
pretty; and the whole of that move- 
ment is treated in proper style, as 
well as with more liberality of har- 
monic support than the march. The 
trio in four flats, less difficult than 
might be thought at first sight, is 
pleasing; and a proper coda ter- 
minates the whole in a workman -» 
like manner. 
-tn:>'q*3r. n. 
tfi 'R Juq fej. 

H //m'tij i\. 


Consisting nf interesting Extracts from new Popular 

ml n .\,.xjri:j r- } 


(Frofti ,.Jaj«_e,s's Travf.l^in G^rmanj/, Siveden, &c.) 

N OTW lTHSTANDiNt3 rfche, faV0iUI!r) 
able state of the public mind, such 
is the principle of the iius^ian 
governmeinty that it was held ex- 
pedient to keep the people, as, far 
as possible, in ignorance of the 
real condition of affairs ; aad most 
singular were the devices adopted. 
About ten days before the French 
forces, entered Moscow, the go- 
vernor, Rastopchin, issued a pro- 

dlamation, stating that a balloon 
was preparing which was to be fill- 
ed with various combustibles, and 
would accomplish a great scheme 
for the deliverance of the country ; 
that on the following Sunday a 
small one would be launched by 
way of experiment; and the inha-' 
bitauts were forewarned of its ap- 
pearance, lest any unnecessary 
alarm should be excited, for it \vas 



only tlio forerunner of iliat wliii'li 
was to tlestroy Ziiodui/, the zciiked 
oii£. Another pvoelaination re- 
quested the youths of iMoscow to 
meet on the Sparrow Hills t)n a 
stated day, in order to repel the 
presumptuous hosts of the ene- 
my. In short, eveiy measure tliat 
could encourage a fallacious hope 
of contideuce was resorted to on 
this occasion. Some reported the 
battle of Borodino to have been a 
victory on the part of the Kussians, 
and a celebrated personage gave 
a «rrand dinner in honour of the 

On Fritlay, the lltli September, 
a public masquerade was adver- 
tised ; but the general consterna- 
tion had by this time gained too 
nuich ground to permit the citizens 
to join in diversions of this sort, 
and only two persons shewe{l tlieni- 
selves at the doors, where they 
viewed the entertainment of an 
empty room. 

On Sunday, the 13th Septem- 
ber, all uncertainty was put at an 
end. The Russian army, in full 
retreat, entered the town, and the 
vaii-g^uard already held the road 
of Vladomir. Every one who had 
been deceived by idle tales, or 
who, fondly hoping his own wishes 
might prove true, had procrasti- 
nated the evil hour of departure, 
now hurried to join the crowd of 
fugitives at the city gates, and a 
scene of confusion ensued, that 
served to increase a thousand- fold 
the general dismay. 

On tlie following morning, when 
the tumultuous passage of 'the 
troops was concluded, the police 
and the olHcers of government took 
their departure ; the few miserable 
people who were unable to tiy, 

shut themselves up within their 
houses, and waited, in jjain and 
anxiet)', tlie dreadful interval that 
elapsetl between the passage of 
one army and the entrance of ano- 
ther. Here and there the outrajres 
of a fewhali^druidcen wretches es- 
caped from the prisons were heard; 
but every where besides the gtill- 
ness of death prevailed; a fearful 
calm, that seemed destined to be 
the precursor of some dire con- 

It was about five o'clock on 
Monday evening, when the sound 
of the trumpets anil chitter of 
horses' feet announced the ap- 
proach of the forces of Murat, who 
led the advance of the French. The 
streets were filled in rapid succes- 
sion; guards were quickly posted 
at every open spot or avenue, and 
immediate possession taken of the 

Before night closod in, Bona- 
parte arrived in person at the bar- 
rier on the Smolensko road, where 
his temporary residence was the 
scene of a singular occurrence. He 
waited some time in seeming sur- 
prise at not i-eceiving a formal de- 
putation from the municipality to 
present him with the keys of the 
town ; but suppo>ing a mistake 
might have caused the delay, he 
dispatched an aide-de-camp to in- 
form them of his arrival. The of-, 
ficer soon returned to liim with the 
account, that neither magistracy 
nor police were any where to be 
discovered, and that the whole 
place was in a njanner deserted. 
Bonaparte was amazed; again he 
sent an officer to endeavour to 
search for some person at least, \a ho 
miQ-ht afford him inteilioence're- 
spectiag- these extraordioary cir- 



cumstances : his .messenger wan- 
dered about far an hour or two in 
vain, at last he lighted on a poor 
schoolmistress who was reported to 
be well versed in the French lan- 
g uage ; she was i n stantly taken from 
her house, mounted on a droshka, 
and sent in haste to a conference 
with the mighty Napoleon. Her 
story was such as might be expect- 
ed ; and this ambitious despot felt 
the first shock of the great cata- 
strophe that awaited his fatal ex- 
pedition, j 

Meanwhile the secret prepara- I 
tions to burn the town, and to de- i 
prive the French army of the re- 
sources they hoped to secure, had 
been partially curried into effect. , 
Under pretence of constructing | 
the balloon before mentioned, a { 
large apparatus of fire-works and 
combustibles were made ready by 
the direction of M. Smith, at Vo- 
ronzovo. In the course of this day, 
they were conveyed and distribut- 
ed, by the hands of various emis- 
saries, throughout every quarter of 
the town, and applied with the 
greatest assiduity. The confusion 
that ensued upon the occupation 
of so large a place aided the secrecy 
of their operations, and in a few 
instances some of the inhabitants, 
on the eve of departure, were found 
to lend their assistance to the 
scheme. Fraught as they were with 
the zeal of the movxient, they set 
fire vvith their own hands to their 
empty habitations; even women 
were seen kneeling, crossing them- 
selves for an instant before their 
own doors, and then flinging in 
the fatal brand, and hurrying away 
balf dismayed at what they had 

Qu this very night the French 

observed a fianie breaking out in 
the Twerskaia, a part of the city 
situated on the north; a short time 
after a bright flan>€ was seen in the 
Taoutsa quarter, and several build- 
ings of the Exchange in the Kitai- 
gorod were reported to be on fire. 
These phenomena, however, were 
disregarded at the time; they were 
looked upon as occurrences of ac- 
cident, orders given to extinguish 
them, and little further notice wa^ 
taken . 

By Tuesday evening the fires 
before observed had assumed a ve- 
ry serious aspect; the detachment 
employed to stop their progress 
reported their labours to be in vain ; 
the blaze arose in a tliousand places 
at once, and encircled them while 
plying their ineffectual labours. A 
south-west wind, which prevailed 
the whole day, increased its de- 
structive fury, involving in ruin all 
the parts of the town lying in that 
direction. Of the real origin of 
this mischief a suspicion was as 
yet scarcely entertained, though 
some persons charged as incendia«» 
ries had been apprehended, and one 
daring hand that feared not to ad- 
vertise the hated invaders of what 
was going on, had thrown a rocket 
within tlie walls of the Kremlin, -v.! 

The imperial palace, where Bo«fj« 
naparte had taken up his abode 
after the first night spent at the 
barrier, was situated witliin the holy 
citadel; and whether from this cir- 
cumstance, or from general alarm 
at the fire that threatened to sur- 
round him every way, I know not, 
but it is certain that he was induced 
for one night to shift his quarters 
to the Petrovski Palace. Hither 
he was followed by between three 
and four hundred miserable objects 

coS#L^'<Sh:lTi6N dr WoVcBw?*' 


-^hungry, hoaseless citizens, pUin- face— the lawlessness of confusion 
deretl and insnlird by the soldier}', ,! reigned throughout — and the eter- 
who crowded around the doors, and || nal distrust that is engendered by 
with dumb show and palefaces of j calamity, ^dded distraction to thei^ 
despair, implored the protection 
of him that was tlie cause of ail. 
But what could be done? To stop 

the flames was imj)ossible; for ihe 
rest, leaTe to piHage had already 
been granted ; and numerous bands 


But to return. On Saturday 
mornincr the wind fell, and s the 
smoke gradually cleared oIT, ex- 
posed to view the field of desolation 
ihat no words can attempt to de- 

of marauders infested every place ! scribe. 

liiat the fire permitted to their hi 

pacity. The licentiousness of 'dife 1 a heart-rending prospect indeed 

army was uncontrollable. 

On Thursday, the wiiiif, wlthch 

To the feelings of a liatiye it was 

bo one is more alive to the pride of 
his' cdtintry than a Russian. But 

had veered round bv the south,' set ' setting aside the sense of disgrace, 

ill violently frotn the east, as if it 
were determined that the destruc- 
tion shouldon all sides be complete. 

! It was a sight involving so many 
! feelings inseparable from human 
' nature, that few ever ventured even 
On Friday it became still more jl to reflect upon the measures which 
boisterous; and the fiery current II had beeri adopted ; and noble as 
quickeningalongthewooden alleys, their sacrifice appeared — greatly 
instead of spreading from house to ji as it had befeiV admired throughout 
house, at once wrapt whole streets ' Europe— ther(ft is no Russian at this 
in conflagration. Throughout this '; day that will avow from svhat means 
vast place nothing was heard but the conflagration arose; but it is 
the crash of timbers and walls, with !i invariably ascribed by people at 
the hollow murmur of the fire, ■! Petersburg, as well as here, to the 
while to the sisrht was exhibited a 'malice of the French army. His- 
circle of dismal and smothered !j torV, however', 'will do justice to 
ruins; the wholeone varyingscene. ! the iiationj and blazon in its true 
In some distant parts the breeze *!oolbtirsthi's'^gnal triumph of Rus- 
occasionally fanned out a motnen- 'f siaii''ttia:gnanimity. 
tar}- flame; but even this in a few '| It\Vas'frortn the road as it passed 
seconds died away, sinking into ! und'^r' the turrets of the Peirovski 
the black and vaporous deluge that ^''Palace, that we first beheld the 
inundated the atmosphere. * ''^•myriads of' domes and steeples that 

Such were the features of hoiri^or^' yet glktefed among the relics of .^ shewed themselves within the Moscow, and a short hour brought 
gates; without, a wretrlred crew us to the barriers. At our first en- ^ 
of fugitives, noblesaifd peasants, •*'trande"feWs^1bptdrti'4 were se^n of,^ 
all alike fatigued with their march, a nature to 'correspond with the ]^ 
and destitute of food, lay on the ', ^^''-^oniy appearance which we had ,^ 
roads, and watched tWrmigh the'f[ljeen led- to^expect ;' btit as'we ad-,_^^ 
long night, "afar, nfdr off;" the f*VQneed,'tTie quarters 6f the Slabode, "V 
flames of the hurntng city. Mtir-" or /^7«.i//0«?-ir, where wood had chief-^" 
der-AT»d rapine stared thertri?f tht 'l^y beeiT trsed in building, exhibited 
Ful. 11. No. IK. 

A A 



destruction in its fnllest extent, 
for the most part a campagfie ras3: 
now and then the shell of a bouse 
was seen standing in a blank space, 
or here and there a few brick stoves 
yet remaining, pointed out the spot 
where a dwelling once had been. 
Moving onwards, we crossed the 
avenues of the boulevards; the trees 
were in full leaf and beauty, seem- 
ing to vary the view only to heighten 
its melancholy aspect. Leaving 
this, we passed to the central parts 
of the tuwn, tiiat were constructed 
with more durable materials, ex- 
hibiting occa -ionally a richness and 
elegance of exterior, that must have 
equalled, if not surpassed, the ar- 
chitectural magnificence of the 
most beautiful towns of Europe. 
All was now in the same forlorn 
condition ; street after street greet- 
ed the eye with perpetual ruin; 
disjointed columns, mutilated por- 
ticos, broken cupolas, walls of rug- 
ged stucco, black, discoloured with 
the stains of fire, and open on every 
side to the sk}', formed a hideous 
contrast with the glowing pictures 
which travellers had drawn of the 
grand and sumptuous palaces of 

The cross lanes looked even at 
this interval as if unused to hear 
the sound of human tread ; the grass 
sprung up amidst the mouldering 
fragments that scattered the pave- 
ments; while alow smoke, issuing 
perhaps from some obscure cellar 
corner, gave the only indication 
of human habitation, and seemed 
to make desolation " visible." If 
such were the itnpressions on a 
stranger's mind at the present day, 
how poignant must have been the 
feelings of citizens, who, on the 
evitciiatioii by tlie enemy, returned 

hither to contemplate the wreck 
of their fortunes and their homes ! 

They were not, nevertheless, so 
much to be pitied as those who 
were constrained to remain in the 
town during the reign of the French; 
witnessing the daily progress of 
their misfortunes, as well as expe- 
riencing in their own persons the 
bitterest sufferings which want and 
oppression could inflict. The num- 
ber was not large ; only about 
20,000, out of a population of more 
than 300,000, having been detain- 
ed by poverty or other causes. 
Some people will regard the pro- 
portion as greater than common 
expectation would have calculated 
upon : but it should be recollected, 
that the danger of their situation 
was for a long time concealed from 
the citizens; and flashing upon 
them as it did, on a sudden, it 
augn)ented in a marvellous degree 
the diflEiculties of providing the 
necessary means for flight. The 
demands for horses, mules, car- 
riages, were exorbitant beyond 
measure; on the lastday, four and 
even five hundred rubles were of- 
fered for horses to the first stage 
out of Moscow, and repeatedly re- 

Many also, helpless through bo- 
dily infirmity, were constrained, 
under the circumstances of aggra- 
vation, to abide the fury of the 
storm; and when in this account 
we include between 7 and 8000 
wounded soldiers of the Russian 
army, who perished either through 
want of surgical assistance, or were 
involved in the general conflagra- 
tion, is it possible for the most in- 
ventive genius to imagine a tale of 
greater horror ? 

Another class again was compos- 




cd of foreigners, to whom an at- 
tempt to depart, unless under pro- 
tection, would have beerv at the 
imminent peril of their lives. The 
prejudices, ignorance, andrageof 
the multitude were equally ungo- 
vernable: every stranger was with 
ihem a Frenchman and a spy ; and 
several were cruelly butchered by 
the peasants on the road, no far- 
ther ground of suspicion appearing 
than their iiinoranceof the Russian 

The hardships undergone hfy one 
of the German merchants were re- 
lated to us as we passed the remains 
of his former dwelling ; it was a 
small house situated at a short dis- 
tance from the city: fearing he 
mighthere be exposed tothe insults 
of the soldiery, he resolved to seek 
the shelter of the town, setting out 
for this purpose the very day on 
which the French entered. He was 
unable to undertake a jo-'mey, and 
scarce, indeed, could look to an 
easy accomplishment of this short 
trip, being himself afflicted with a 
severe dropsical complaint, his wife 
far advanced in pregnancy, and 
burdened moreover with an infant 
daughter nine months old. The j 
party was joined by the son- in-law 
and the daughter, who were un- ; 
willing to quit their side, and they i 
repaired to the habitation of a friend 
in Nikitskaia, where they remain- 
ed during the entrance of the troops. 
On the 3d September they were 
assaulted and plundered of whatever 
articles the military robbers chose l 
to lay hands upon: after which, 'i 
seeing their house was threatened i 
by the rapid advance of the flames, I 
they were again forced put of doors. 
A droshka, that they lighted upon i 
by chance, alforded a mode of 'I 

I conveyance for the sick, man, his 
i daughter and son-in-law drawin"- 
it by turns; on their route, they 
were attacked by a second body of 
' plunderers, who stripped them of 
the greater part of their clothes, 
I and robbed even the child of its 
swathings: feeling thankful that 
no farther violence was offered, 
they pursued their journey till they 
, arrived at a house near the barrier 
Twerskaia ; but from 'lence were 
[ again driven on the followmg day 
by the flames. They now sallied 
forth for the third time in quest of 
an habitation, and having the good 
fortune to be accompanied by two 
French officers, were preserved from 
insult by their polite attendance. 
They journeyed near five veris 
through the smoking ruins of the 
town, and finding a baihing-lionse 
which was entirely deserted, halted, 
and fixed upon it for their abode. 
Scarcely had they been settled a 
fortnight, when they were assailed 
by anew sense of danger : the Cos- 
sacks, in the course of their inroads 
to Moscow, paid them a visit, and 
imairinin"- them, from some cir- 
cumstance or other, to be a French 
family, were preparing to put thctn 
to death. Some of the party had 
fortunately concealed themselves, 
and only tlie sick man, with his 
wife and child, appeared : she, hav- 
ing a competent knowledge of the 
Russian language, endeavoured to 
persuade them of their error; while 
he, whose imperfect accents uould 
have iacreased their suspicion, an- 
swered their interrogations only by 
sighs and groans, feigning, though 
perhaps it was scarcely a counterfeit, 
that he laboured under pangs of tlie 
acutest suflering; the intruders 
were at last, with much difficulty, 
A A 2 


noivonDOKi iA&aiDiJsa^s«cr 

appeased, but on their departure 
left our poor foreigners in such -a 
state of agitation and alarm, that 
they dared not stay anotlier night 
in this exposed part of the town, 
and set out on their travels for the 

fifth time. They now repaired t» 
one of the toll-houses^ where three, 
who alone survived the miseries of 
their situation, remained till the 
final evacuation of the city. 
(To be concluded in our nexfi) 

io 'HOT £ ilnvi b^ir FASH10N§^,^, 




A STRIPED sarsnet gown, very 
richly trimmed rouod the bottom 
with a flounce of deep work, finish- 
ed with a heading : a second flounce 
is set on at some distance, which is 
much narrower; it is also finished 
with a heading. Bows of Pomona 
green ribbon ornament the skirt a 
little above the flounce. ' 

The body is cut very low J it is 
full. The sleeve is long, very 
loose, and fancifully trimmed with 
bows of Pomona green ribbon, to 
correspond with the trimming of 
the skirt: the sleeve is finished by 
a very novel and pretty cuff of 
pointed lace. Fichu a la Duchesse 
de Berri, composed of white lace, 
which comes very high ; but though 
it shades the neck in the most de- 
dicate manner, it does not by any 
means give an idea of dishabille; 
-rion the contrary, it might be worn 
in full dress. Hair cropped, and 
dressed in very full curls in the 
peck, and very full on the forehead. 
Striped kid slippers to correspond 
with the dress. White kid gloves. 
Necklace white cornelian, with a 
small gold crpss. Ear-rings white 
cornelian. . r; r. 

Tfc* A white British net dress over a 
oi fvhit€^ sarspet slip; the dress is 
^t^inamed round the bottom with a 
deep double flounce of lace, sur- 

mounted by a wreath of roses, im- 
mediately above which is a rollio 
orf white Sfatin. This trimming is 
uncommonly tasteful and striking. 
The body and sleeves are of thq 
same material as the dress; the 
former is full, and cut in a very no- 
vel style: a quilling of blond lace 
goes round the bosom, which comes 
high at the sides, but is sloped very 
much just in front. A gma^l bou- 
quet qf moss roses shades the bo- 
som, and gives an elegant finish to 
the dress. The sleeve, short and 
extremely full, is divided into com- 
partments by rollios of satin. Headr 
dress a wreath of moss roses, fan- 
cifully intermixed with corn-flow- 
ers ; the hair very becomingly 
dressed in light loose ringlets on 
the forehead, and moderately high 
behind. A superb white lace scarf, 
thrown round the shoulders, par- 
tially shades the back of the neck. 
Necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, 
pearl. White satin slippers, and 
white kid gloves. 

We are indebted to the conde- 
scension of a lady of distinguished 
rank for both our dresses this 


The unfavourable state of the 
weather since the publication of 
our last number, has prevented any 

TLate id. 

::-'KlE § s 

PI4UX.J7. yoi. 


lE^^TE J^ir H"G BRE § § 



change worth mentioning in the 
promenade dress. 
c The Gloucester bonnet and spen- 
cer are in the highest estimation 
for the carriage costume ; the}' are 
composed of white satin : the spen- 
cer lias a little fulness behind, but 
is tight to the shape in front, and 

perseded it. We have noticed a 
very elegant dishabille composed 
of jaconot muslin; the body en- 
tirely loose, and confined to the 
waist by a plain white ribbon : there 
are four casings round the bust, 
which form the dress to the shape 
of the neck and bosom ; each eas- 

is trimmed with blue satin, in an l| ing is ornamented with a row of 
uncommonly novel and tasteful j| narrow scolloped work. A plain 

style. It has a half-sleeve and cufi", 
which are an intermixture of blue 
and white satin; and a trimming, 
composed of the same materials, 
goes round the neck and down 
the fronts : this trimming, about a 

long sleeve, with a wristband trim- 
med with a single row of work. 
The skirt has a single deep flounce 
of work at the bottom ; this is sur- 
mounted by a narrower flounce, 
put on in waves. This is an elegant 

shells. There is no collar, but it 
js worn with a rich lace ruff. 

nail in breadth, is in the form of jj and lady-like undress, and certain- 
ly much more appropriate to the 
morning costume than the profu- 

■ The crown of the bonnet is oval, li sion of lace with which some of 

and of a moderate size; tiie front ! our dashing fasliionablts l)ave their 

is small, and turns up a little to one ii dresses loaded. 

side; it is ornamented with a very- 
superb plume of while featl>eTs, 
tipped with blue. 

vii Instead of the very light mate- 
rials usually adopted at this sca- 

In dinner dress, plain India mus- 
lin, profusely trimmed with lace, 
is much in estimation, as are striped 
silks of a new and tasteful pattern : 
they are striped in shades of the 

3on for the carriage costutne, our j! same colour. Shot sarsnets, parti- 
fair fashionables now generally '■ cularly lilac, azure, blush-colour, 
wrap themselves in silk scarfs or ' and green shot with white, are in 
shawls, which have the double re- ^ great estimation. An exceedingly 
commendation of being warm and j; pretty silk trimming has just made 
light. Muslin pelisses, so elegant' its ajipearance: it is an intermix- 
and so appropriate to the season, 'ture of twisted and floss silk in 
liaye, from the coldness and hu- '' festooivs, Teach festoon finished by 
midity of the weather, beep, entire- '' a rich light tuft of floss silk: though 
ly laid aside. Sarsnet pelisses are i it is really pretty and tastelul, yet 
still worn, but they afford no no- l|4t is but little worn, as blond and 
velty. Tiie light and beautiful I' satin, though so long in fashion, 

scarfs which we mentioned in one il are still in Iviffh estimation. We 

i ' 
.of our late numbers are now not at ' have no alteration in the forni of 

all seen. \\ dinner dress to notice since our 

Muslin is still in the highest fa- |i last nnn)l)er. 

vour for morning dress, but lace is 
not so generally worn as it was;' 

For the form of the most elegant 
full dress that has been seen for 

small plaited muslin flounces ap- j some tim<?, we refer our-rcadcrs to 
pesi!/>in^soine degree, to have sv^- | oorpriotic 'Weliave) howerer, an- 


FUR:^reH ItemaltI; fasiIions. 

other elegant novelty to announce, 
the Gloucester robe, composed of 
white gauze, and worn over a white 
satin slip: this robe is trimmed 
round the bottom with a beautiful 
embroidery of lilacs; the body is 
made very low all round, and the 
back and fronts are shaped by 
white satin welts, which have a very 
novel effect. The sleeve, which is 
yery short, is a triple fall of blond 
lace, festooned by pearl ornaments : 
the bosom is trimmed with a double 
row of blond, which is put on to 
resemble a small pelerine. The 
general effect of this dress is un- 
commonly tasteful and elegant. 
We have no alteration to notice in 
the materials for full dress since 
last month. 

Caps in half dress continue to 
be very fashionable, but small 
white lace handkerchiefs are still 
more so : the manner in which they 
are worn is not, h.owever, generally 
becoming. The hair is still worn 
very much off the forehead, and 
k)\v at the sides ; the corner of the 
handkerchief is placed so as to fall 
over the forehead, and the ends 
hancr at each side : a bunch of flow- 

ers is put carelessly on one side, 
but some tleganles have a small 
chaplet instead, which encircles 
the hind hair, and has a very pretty 

Full-dress jewellery continues to 
be composed wholly of diamonds 
and pearls : coloured stones are not 
at all worn : sprigs of pearl are 
very much in request, and have 
certainly a beautiful effect on dark 

The hair is worn lighter on the 
forehead in full dress. The hind 
hair is either fastened up in a full 
bunch, or part of it plaited, and 
brought round the head in bands, 
while the rest is fastened in a bunch 
at one side. 

Stout silk half-boots, which are 
made very low, and always corre- 
spond with the dress, are most in 
favour in tlie carriage costume. 
White satin slippers for full dress 
are now cut rather lower on the 

Fashionable colours for the month 
continue the same as last, with the 
addition of Pomona green and la- 
vender colour. 


Paris, August 17. 

My dear Sophia, 

The English newspapers 
have told you all that I could tell 
you respecting the person of the 
Duchess of Berri. She is certain- 
ly handsome, though not critically 
so; and her manner is so full of 
grace, vivacity, and what the French 
call houhommie, that she is extreme- 
ly popular; and what perhaps con- 
tributes as much as any thing to 
render her so with the ladies, is her 

taste in dress. I shall give you a 
description of some of her things 
by and by, but I must now pro- 
ceed to speak of our present fa- 
vourite promenade costume. 

A plain round dress of cambric 
muslin, with three flounces of the 
same material, put very close to 
each other at the bottom of the 
dress : the waist a moderate length ; 
the back narrower than when I 
wrote last, and made with a little 
fulness ; the front tight to th^ 



shape, ami cut very low. Plain 
long sleeve, vvitli very little ful- 
ness, tastefully (iiiislied at the waist 
by an iiiternnxture of muslin and 
lace let in hyas, which forms a very 
pretty cuff. Ficliu of tii//e, with a 
very full rulT: I thirik there are 
eight falls of either fti//t' or fine, 
but not hroail, lace. Over this 
dress is thrown a rich large black 
lace half-handkerchief: those of 
Chaniilly are most in request, from 
tiie peculiar elegance of the bor- 
der. The favourite promenade 
bonnet is the prettiest and most 
becoming that I have seen since 
my residence here. It is composed 
of white gauze ; the crown, which 
is oval, is ornamented by hands of 
white satin at the toj), which form 
the shape of the bonnet; the front 
is large, ami shades without con- 
cealing the face: it is finished by 
a triple plaiting of tulle. The bands 
and strings are white satin ; a bou- 
quet, composed of blue bells, dai- 
sies, pinks, and roses, is placed on 
one side. As this bonnet is per- 
fectly transparent, it is in the great- 
est request with those belles who 
have a fine head of hair. I had 
forgot to observe, that it is of a very 
moderate height. 

Worked muslin is also in ver}' 
great favour for the promenade. 
Silk is now very little seen ; it dis- 
appeared with the bad weather, 
whicli quilted us, I hope, entirely 
about ten days ago. All prome- 
nade dresses are made nearly like 
the one I have described. Worked 
muslin is usually trimmed uith 
lace, and worn with a lace ^'c^M, 
or else one of the finest clear mus- 
lin, small - plaited. "White lace 
shawis and scarfs, though not so 
generally vtrorn as black ones, are 

considered as very elegant ; and a 
few belles of distinguished taste 
have sported pelerines oi tulle, which 
fall a little below the waist behind, 
and the ends reach nearly to the 
knee in front: they are trimmed all 
round with a very fine lace. I'hese 
pelerines are very becoming and 
extremely tuiiisli, but their high 
price prevents their being very 

I believe there are at present net 
less than twenty dress and undress 
promenade bonnets and hats; for 
in that respect the fashion changes 
incessantly. For u:orning, cam- 
bric muslin is most in request; the 
bonnets composed of it are all 
made full, and both crown and 
front are usually shaped l)y draw- 
ings, of which there are generally 
two, put at about an inch distance 
from each other: three of these 
double drawings form the front, 
and three, or sometimes four, the 
crown. Some ladies wear the ed<Te 
of the front trimmed with two or 
three rows of tulle, and a bunch of 
flowers at the side; others wear 
them without any other trimming 
than a large rosette of muslin, ami 
plain white strings: the number of 
these belles, however, is very limit- 
ed, and every day decreases it; for 
of all affectations, the one of which 
a Frenchwoman tires the soonest 
is simplicity. 

Straw is also very much in fa- 
vour; plain round hats, such as 
were fashionable about three years 
ago in London, are much worn: 
however, you must not say so here, 
for they will not admit that they 
copy us in any respect. Chnpeaur, 
composed of straw-colour silk and 
gauze, are also a great deal \Aorn, 
as are green chip and plain Leg- 



horn : all these are calculated only 
fordishabiile. Tiiose made of cam- 
bric muslin are called capotes. But 
there are some exquisitely pretty, 
composed either of lace or gauze, 
for the dress promenade. One of 
these, made in white lace, is a 
small hat, which comes in a peak 
on the forehead, is turned up on 
one side, and ornamented with 
pink satin in front. This little 
jauntee hat is totally different in 
shape from any head-dress I have 
ever seen ; it was introduced by a 
very dashing marquise, and is cer- 
tainly extremely becoming, parti- 
cularly to Hebe-faced belles like 
yourself, my Sophia. 

But I had nearly forgotten a very 
material point; I should have told 
)0u, that straw hats are always or- 
namented both with flowers and 
ribbons: wreaths of moss ros^es, 
without leaves, are very general, as 
are also fancy flowers made of 
straw : straw-coloured ribbons are 
just come into favour, hitherto 
white only have been worn. White 
chip hats are ornamented with co- 
loured ribbons and bunches of blue 
daisies, amaranths, and gilliflow- 
ers. Leghorn are generally trim- 
med with white or yellow gauze, 
laid on full in rolls; and bonnets 
of every description are now worn 
lined. In this respect, French 
taste is very bad ; the lining rarely 
corresponds with the trimming or 
ornaments ; as, for example, you 
see a bonnet lined with blue, trim- 
ined with green, and perhaps orna- 
mented with a bunch of different 
coloured flowers: at present, blue, 
rose-colour, and green are favour- 
ite linings; but, I think, plaid silk 
is still more than any thing in re- 
quest, and some few of our most 

distinguished fashionables hav^ 
sported bonnets entirely composed 
of it. 

English materials are still in re- 
quest for undress, but the form of 
dishabille is much improved since 
my last; thanks to the good taste 
of the Duchess de Berri, to whom 
we are indebted for the prettiest 
morning dress I ever saw: it is 
composed of jaconot muslin, open 
in front, and made to wrap very 
much to one side. The body, a la 
chemiset, is confined to the waist by 
a blue silk sash, which ties behind 
in a bow and long ends: the upper 
part of the body is composed en- 
tirely of letting-in lace, which is 
made tight to the shape, and dis- 
plays the contour of the bust to the 
greatest advantage : a double frill 
of lace encircles the throat. The 
sleeve, long and very full, is drawn 
at the shoulder, so as to form a 
pretty kind of half-sleeve, which 
is ornamented with bows of nar- 
row blue ribbon: three easin<xs of 
blue ribbon, each finished with 
bows, and a triple fall of lace, fi- 
nish the sleeve at the wrist. I have 
observed that the dress was open 
in front; one side is square, but 
the other is rounded; it is trimmed 
round with lace, and festooned at 
distances of about a quarter of a 
yard with blue ribbon. This dress 
is always worn over a cambric slip, 
which is trimmed with three or four 
flounces: the under dress is a little 
displayed in front, and the general 
effect of this tasteful undress is 
more elegant than you can con- 
ceive from my description of it. 
The cortiette worn with it is of a 
whimsical but not unbecoming 
shape ; it is a plain round cap, com- 
posed of the finest clear muslirr. 



over which is a very higU crown, 
made full, and ortHtinenied.w^ti) 
medallions, I think you cull them 
in England, of leltin<^-in: lace; a 
profusion of tlowerg nre placet! in 
/ront, and a large bow of blue rib- 
bons ornanienis it at the side. 

White is still predominant in 
dinner dress 3 worked and clear 
jnuslin are very much in request, 
and white striped and plain sars- 
net are also much worn. \Vaists 
still continue a very becoming- 
length; but the bodies of dresses 
are made much higher than when 
I wrote last, and long sleeves are 
so general tliat one sees hardly any 
thing else. With respect to trim- 
mings there is nothing very novel; 
we still wear blond for silk dresses, 
or else rolls of satin : these last are 
very much in favour. Tliey are 
worn nmch larger than. wliea^J^ 
wrote last. : jr ' ^^ 

Gauze continues in favoupjfor; | 
full dress. I was the other night 
at a ball given by the Marquise de 

F , one of the new nobility, 

whose splendid mansion and ele- 
gant su[)pers make all strangers 
anxious to be introduced to her, 
though entre nous her coarse man- 
ners, provincial accent, and incor- 
rect language, expose her to the 
ridicule of her guests; and I ob^ | 
served scarcely any thing but white' 
gauze worn by the juvenile,' or' 
would-be juvenile, part of the 
company: some striped gauze^ 
dresses were lightly eHibToidered'> 
in a running pattern of silver rouwd: 
the bottom, a girdle, embroidered 
in a .similar ujanner, round i^ttie' 
waist, and a sliort sleeve tastefully 
festooned with silver ornanients. 
Other ladies wore white satin slips, 
embroidered in round :tiie; 

rj. If. K9. IX 

bota)m, with plain gauze dresses, 
ie&tooned.sQ as to display this rich 
r^nd beautiful border; ta<h ftstoon 
ornanjtnted with a sprig of rose- 
bud^ii. -. The bosom and sleeves were 
trinimed to corres.,ond. T iitTC 
were a few gauze petticoats over 
white satin slips, the ibrmer trim- 
med with biond ; and while satin 
jackets, made about half a quarter 
deep behind, and very full, but 
shjped to a point in front. Tiiese 
jackets wer« generally worn by 
very juvenile delies; for whou), in- 
deed, they are expressly calculat- 
ed. \V reaths of lilies, moss r jses, 
jasmine, corn-tlowers, and peach- 
blossom, were very general: the 
majority of the ladies followed the 
example of the Duchess de Berri, 
in intermixing flowers with jewels 
in their hair. 

I ,:..Before I close my letter, which 
'is> however, unccnscional)!y long, I 
'must describeto you a most superb 
court dressy ■n^hich has jiist been 
made up for the Duchess de Berri. 
A wliiie satin manteau, snjierbly 
ornamented' round the bottom witli 
a border, of flowers composed of 
pr«ciuns stdiies. and a robe of green 
ticliBf hprdr&ed~ with silver lama, 
Nyiiicliis wlab-cprich^ with jewels : 
at tWeafatidiiof tlie robe is a triple 
roivDtjfvtbo flCftC magnificent point 
lace,' i^^ii^k^St^nd.s up behind, but 
;cfjim«' i^jfuttiuir thsn the shoul*^' 
iters;.: to you some 
tiioe agbj fthat the Dnchess d'An- 
gouleiueiiidd- introduced lappels at 
tourt: tbefr ejTeet is much more 
<rrftceful tflan you wouUI suppose. 
I« fAiUodrFSfs^ the hair is worn 
disposed m light ringlets on the 
forehead; the hind hair is platted 
ittJthree^jrfourbands, arrd d4sposed^ 
tbe Iwath'.'' The' fasli*ona^l4* 
B B 



colours are pink, azure, peach- | costume, to mention that sashes of 
blossom, green, and lilac. coloured ribbon, especially plaid. 

In lialt'-dress jewellery, varie- , are in high request, and that para- 
gated cornelian is very much worn ; , sols are very large. 
I know not any thincr more be- ' Adieu, dear Sophia ! believe me 

coming. There is no novelty in 
the shape of ornaments. I had for- 
got, in speaking of the promenade 

ever your affectionate 




The: annexed design represents 
a bed intended for tlie apartment 
of a young lady of fasldon. The 
hangings are of light blue silk, the 
ornaments being a tender shade of 
brown, and the linings to corre- 
spond; they are supported b}- rings 
and rods of brass, beiiind which the 
curtains are suspended, and drawn 
up by silk cords, enriched with tas- 

sels. This design has been so ex- 
ecuted, and had a very elegant and 
rich effect: it would, however, be 
suitable to draperies of the usual 

In the present state of our silk- 
manufactories, the adoption of a 
similar style of furniture for our 
apartments would prove a national 


Mr. CoLBURN will shortly pub- 
lish, by authority, in French as 
well as English, the following im- 
portant productions: — 1. Corre- 
sputuleiue of M. Foiicht, Duke of 
Otranto, zeit/t his Grace the DiiUe 
of lVellington.—2. A Sketch of the 
public Life of M. Fouche, Duke of 
Otranto; comprising various cor- 
respondence, addressed to the Em- 
peror Napoleon, King Joachim, the 
Duke d'Artois, Prince Blucher, 
Louis XVIII. Count de Blacas, 
and other ministers, &c. — This 
work pourtraysthis celebrated cha- 
racter as he really is. It exhibits 
his most secret sentiments, the spi- 
rit of his public life, and the prin- 
ciples which have directed him at 
all periods and in situations the 
most diversified. The political do- 
cuments will be found to throw 

great light on the personal relations 
of the duke, and on the history 
and character of recent events. 

Mr. Accum has in the press, A 
Practical Essai/ on Chemical lie- 
agents, or Teats, illustrated bif a Se- 
ries of Experiments. The work will 
comprehend a snmm.ary viewof the 
general nature of chemical tests, 
the effects which are produced by 
the action of these bodies, the uses 
t(j which they are applied, and the 
art of applying them successfully. 
A chemical cliest, containing the 
re-agents and apparatus necessary 
for performing the experiments 
described in the treatise, will also 
bedelivered, if required, asa com- 
panion to the work, which will be 
published on the 3d of September. 

Mr. Jackson of Islington will 
publish, early in September, anew 


18. J 

and improved %.v7(v// of Mueninuics, 
or two Hours Study in tiie Art of 
Memory ; illustrated with many 
plates: calculated for tlie use of 
schools, as well as for those who 
have attended public lectures upon 
the suh'iect. 

y/ History of N/jui/, containing 
not only geographical information 
relative to that kingdom, hut also 
illus'rutive of its relaii(;ns, politi- 
cal and commercial, with the Bri- 
tish dominions in Asia, Tibet, Tar- 
tary, and the Chinese empire, and 
the rise and progress of the late 
war, will speedily appear in an 8vo. 

Some yJccount of jihantuh and 
Fa)iti/n, and of the rest of the Gold 
Cotiit of Africa, is in the press. 
The recent intelligence of a war 
between the people of those coun- 
tries, and the general ignorance 
which prevails respecting them, 
render a work of authority on that 
subject very desirable, 

Capt. Lockett, of the East India 
Company's service, is preparing 
for publication. Travels from Cal- 
cutta to Bahijlnii; including stric- 
tures on the history of that ancient 
metropolis, and observations made 
among its ruins. The work will 
be illustrated with engravings. 

The Rev. Thomas JMaurice has 
in the press, in 4to. Obscrvatiom on 
the Ruins of liaOj/loit, as recently 
visited and described by Claudius 
James Rich, Ks(|. resident for the 
Kast India Company at Bagdad. 

Mr. E. V. Utterson is preparing, 
in two volumes, a Collection of Se- 
lect Pieces of carlif Popular Poefri/, 
written before the close of the 16th 
century. As one object in view 
is to illustrate the literary amuse- 
inent of our ancestors, no poem 

will he introduced which did not, 
either in its matter or style, lay 
claim to popularity. Each poem 
will be ornamented with a wood- 
cut, and have a short notice pre- 
fixed to it. 

yj Description of the People of 
India, b^ the abbe J. A. Dubois, 
missionary in the Mysore, in a lio. 
volume, is nearly ready for publi- 
cation. This work is the result of 
a diligent observation and study of 
the people, during a residence of 
many years among their various 
bribes, in unrestrained intercourse 
and confurmiiy with their habits 
and manner of life. 

A translation of the Antirjnarian 
Travels in Jtali/ of the learned 
French archocologist M. IMillin, is 

Mr. T. RusscKjun. of Guildford, 
'\» publishing, by subscription, a 
Picturesque f'ieto of that aticient 
towji, on a large scale, from a spot 
which displays to great advantage 
its venerable castle and other build- 

A new poem, entitled Emigra- 
tion, or En^lawl and Paris, will be 
published in a few days. 

Mr. Pope will shortly publish a 
new edition of his ylhridgment of 
the Larvs of the Customs and Excise, 
brought down to t!»e present time. 

A new edition of ?vlr. Harmer's 
Observation:' on various Passages of 
iScnptw% with many important ad- 
ditions and corrections by Adam 
Clarke, LL. D. 1'. 8. A.\vill be 
published in a very few days, in 
four vols. 8vo. 

The sci'.se of hearinjj beinjj the 
inlet of huuian knowledge, any di- 
minution oi that power must of 
necessity mai'.'rially deteriorate in- 
tellectual attainments; but vvhea 
B B 2 



total deafness occurs from infancy, 
difficult and miserable must be 
the passage tiirough life. Messrs. 
Wriglit and Son, of Bristol, having 
been very successful in cases of a 
diminution of the faculty of hear- 
ing, have turned their attention to 
to t'.iose born totally deaf, and in 
consequence dumb as to articula- 
tion of sounds which could be un- 
derstood. The result of their ex- 
ertions and a determined persever- 
ance has shewn, these cases 
are not altogether hopeless; they 
have restored several who were born 
deaf and dumb to the enjoyment 
of liearing, and they are in con- 
sequence making great progress in 

On the 29th of July a public meet- 
ing was held at the City of London 
Tavern, to consider of the best 
means of relieving the distresses 
which a considerable portion of 
the manufacturing and labouring 
poor are suffering for want of em- 
ployment. The Duke of York 
presided, and the meeting was at- 
tended by his royal brothers, the 
]3ukes of Kent and Cambridge, 
the Archbishop of Canterbury, the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer, and 
many other distinguished persons. 
A subscription was opened, to which 
his Koyal Highness the Prince Re- 
gent contributed 500/. ; the Queen, 
the Dukes of York and Cambridge, 
300/. each; the Princess Charlotte 
and Prince Leopold, 400/., and the 
other branches of the ro3-al family 
100/. each Tlie total sum sub- 
scribed for this benevolent purpose 
on the 20th of August, amounted to 
about 35,000/. The Committee of 
the Association formed for the ap- 
ydication of relief, have circulated 
»in address, which concludes thus :~ 

"It is undeniable that the want 
of en)ployment is one of the most 
pressing evils of the present pe- 
riod. The committee have there- 
fore heard with no small pleasure, 
that many masters, who had nu- 
merous bodies of workmen in their 
service, have judiciously, as well 
as most humanely, continued to 
employ them all at moderate work, 
rather than a reduced number of 
hands in full occupation. 

" It can scarcely be necessary 
for the committee earnestly to re- 
commend a general attention to all 
practical means of providing new 
labour, of a beneficial kind, for 
those whose labour is become re- 
dundant in its ordinary employ- 
ment. In man}^ districts it is pro- 
bable, that an accurate inquiry 
might suggest various agricultural 
and other improvements, and works 
of general utility ; to which, in the 
actual circumstances of the coun- 
try, such labour might be directed, 
both with present and permanent 
advantage; and it can scarcely 
be necessary to declare, that, in 
cases of this nature, it will afford 
peculiar satisfaction to the com- 
mittee, not only by their funds, so 
far as their resources will allow, but 
also by their established connec- 
tions and correspondencies, to for- 
ward the accomplishment of such 
useful undertakings. On the whole, 
the committee are persuaded, that 
the liberality of the public, judi- 
ciously applied, in aid of such plans 
as shall be locally adopted, may 
produce extensive and beneficial 
effects, in multiplying the occupa- 
tions, supplying the wants, and 
diminishing the sufferings of their 
fellow-subjects during the present 
severe pressure. 



"On these irrounds the commit- 
tee now confidently appeal to the 
known benevolence of the puhlic, 
and venture to request, that the de- 
sired assistance may be granted with 
that distinguished liberality which 
has often relieved the sufferers of 
other nations, and with that promp- 
titude which the present exigency 
so urgently requires." 

A statement of the contributions 
received by the committee lor the 
relief of the suifering inhabitants 

of the field of battle of Leipzig, 
together with an account of their 
application, has just been publish- 
ed at Leipzig. It occupies 112 
octavo pages. From minute in- 
vestigations, it appears that the to- 
tal amount of the damages sus- 
tained by these poor people is esti- 
mated at above 2| millions of dol- 
lars, and the sums received to 93,687 
dollars, about 50,000 of which were 
contributed by England. 



Wi-ittcn by John Taylor, Esq. 
When Spring around her odours threw, 
And Zephyr roved o'er glistening dew, 
A stag, \v4u) heard the yelping pack. 
And thought them just upon his back. 
Flew, like the wind, o'er hill and dale; 
But, ah! his speed could nought avail. 
For nearer, nearer, came his foes, 
Each track'd him with a sapient nose — 
What should he do, in this dire case. 
To shun the barking, biting race? 
The " A«zVy/oo/*," to 'scape the scramble. 
His antlers push'd vvithin a bramble. 
Thinking, in shelter of that screen. 
His body then would not be seen. 
Alas! the hounds were on Ins haunches, 
The bush he found but hid his branches ; 
Too weak to turn and stand at bay, 
He straight became an ea-sy prey. 
Thus if comparison may suit 
Betwixt a rogue and silly brute — 
It may — for 'tis a certain rule, 
That ev'ry villain is a fool. 
Who, thouiih of wisdom he may bras:, 
IS quite as silly as the stag. 
Thus then a rogue, alias a fool, 
OldifJatan's Hupe at once and tool, 

* >- *' the liaii y fool, 

'* ,JVI»icl> luarkcd of the nielaiicKolv Jaqucs.*' 
, . ,4* You Like It. 

If he should find some fawning friends; 
Who flatter all his private ends^ 
Some whOj perchance, his gains may share. 
Anil aid him in each venal snare; 
Some who, uiiskili'd the heart to scan. 
May deem the rogue an honest man; 
Some, not in morals over-nice, 
Who fancy genius shines in vice. 
May fondlv think he lies perdue 
Among this sneaking, sorilid crew: 
For well he knows, on open ground 
His knaveries woidd soon be found; 
Yet hopes, amid this shallow band. 
His character may safely stand. 

But Infamy will track the flight 
Of him who grasps another's right; 
Siill follow him, or low or high, 
With Uetestalion'» Ime and cry. 

Though some who join the chace may 

And some, perchance, may be at fault. 
While others ramble from their bent; 
They yet possess a moral scent, 
And soon the fooli>h rogue will find. 
He's hunted down by all mankind. 

Referring to the s'ag once more. 
Poor fool! ihy ilea'h v\e mav deplore; 
For the-e must Pity heave a sigh: 
i While rogues without regret should die; 
For they provoke the world's pursuit. 
And justly falls the human brute. 




From The Akrial Ismcs, or The Visiuns of 

MaLcolm . 

^Tis merriment all ! in tlie calm simmer 

The moon is up on the mountain's brow. 
And the fays glide down through the 

misly linn, 
Ani the fairy raid shall soon begin; 
For now comes on tise evening shade. 
And revelry of the moonlight glade. 
The elfin children the welkm leave, 
Nae mairo'er the sky their bright looms 

weave ; 
But roam o'er the highland hills together, 
To sip the dew (rum the blooming 

And ';ee, while fades the jjlow of even. 
Dazzling, unfuM the portals of heaven; 
Whe.e ihe lovely race of yon azure 

Array'd in vesmre of vivid green. 
Comedown to enjoy the romantic scene. 
Oh ! 'tis a lovely, enchanting sight, 
As they merrily stream in the pale moon- 
O'er moss and moor, where the moon- 
beams glint. 
And mouiiiains glowing with many a 

Fair on the snow-topt-summit they gleam. 
Bright as the dew in the morning beam, 
When sparkling from a rose-bud gay. 
It catches the first bright dawn of da\'. 
And on the outline, broken and rude, 
Of that mriuntainou?: solitude. 
Where Alpine crags, dark and uneven. 
Mix with the dazzling sheen of heaven; 
A concourse vast, in romantic shew. 
Sparkling and fair, move on to and fro. 
But the niuon-beam falls on the dewy 

And they dart gaily down to the vallev 
There 'tis a beauteous spot to see. 
When the moon climbs o'er the heights 

nf Dee; 
There mingles with the still evening gale, 
The scent of the violet and primrose pale. 

The lily's perfume, and the sweet breath 
Of the harebell on the dewy heath; 
While hung from the rugged impending 

And circling round the lofty oak, 
The wild rose clings, vomantic and fair. 
Weaving many a garland there. 

That wild rose aroops in the valley at 

Nae longer expat uls to the warm dew of 

That lily shuts its white bosom there. 
And the harebell closes its tendrils fair; 
While o'er the mountain and silent deep. 
The zephyr has sigh'd itself t& sleep. 
But a still small whisper breaks on the 

In accents sweet, to the fancy dear; 
Whilst o'er the dew-bespangitid ground 
An unusual fragrance is breathing around : 
And, see! a sigiit of increasing wonder. 
The tlow'ry germs are bursting asunder ; 
S'.iddfn they open their blossoms fair. 
And many an elfin shape is there; 
Array'd in vest of the brightest green. 
And sparkling like the stars of e'en. 
Oh! 'tis a lovely vision to view 
Midst flowers of sae sweet, sae bonnie a 

Their tiny forms, all glittering, seem 
Like the dew condens'd in the morning 

Whilst their little features mair beauty 

Than the blush of Aurora at dawn of day. 
And, hark! from a blooming 

Heaven-born melody breaks on the ear, 
In cadence sweet, as when through the 

The evening zephyr is whispering by- 
And, see ! as rises that elfin strain, 
Thiise lovely forms leave the flow'ry plain. 
And rang'd in ringlets, sparkling and fair, 
Thridde the calm maze of the evening air. 
Skimming along right merrily, 
Over the snow-topt summits of Dee. 

L. Harrison, PiiiUer, 373, Strand. 






Manufactures^ S^c, 


Vol. II. 

October 1, 1816. 

IN^ X. 


1. A ViCAR.AGE-HoUSE ...... 

2. Pakt of the RijIns of the Savoy in 1816 

3. Ladies' Half Duess ...... 

4. Ball Dress . . . . . 

5. MoNA Marble Chimney-Piece ... 

6. Pattern iou Neeull-Wouk. 



21 G 


Artliilectmal Hints — A VicarMge-House 
— Obseivations <»n tlic Diy-Rot in 

AicliiUctinal Rtview. — «tn the Atlvnii- 
ta«;es of <Mf(fii'g a iJritisli Hoyal Pa- 
lai'c — Si. M;uv ic lione Niw ( Imrcli 

Cliroiioloijical Sill vt-N oftlic iiiiiiirnt 

, .Artists to tWu C'oiMiiciirf iiioiit of il.e 
JSixtoeiith (ti)tiiiv. — S'culplois; Ait- 
lUs ill Mo.'iaic ; P;i,iit(rs; PerioJ iii 
wliith t\u y tlinii ishcd ; |ji iiicipal \V<nks 
iiiid iMirits 

PL AC i:-]}OOK. 

Mcllind of .Asci 11 t:iiiiii!{r tlic I'm ity of .Sul- 
plmr, rliitflly uiili rtganl to Arsenic — 
Prcpaiatioii of Scciil-liags, lo picsfive 
Clollies frocii heiiig iajuied by .Mollis, 
&c. — Huii^,.iiau AIlIIioU of inakina- 
Briad uitb.oiit Vcast — Kul: s for ascer- 
lainiiig ihr SIhu^iIi of .Materials — 
Lcoiioii'.ital Melliod of makiiij; i'lie- 
Balls for Fuel — iMcllioti of pieparaig 
Carmine an«l Cotlii leal Lake— Eisy 
IMttliod of taking liiijiicssions of Ma- 
mis(ii|i(s — Singular Mflliod of copy- 
ing Pu lures. :iii.l oilur Objects, by the 
climiical Action ot Li;,'bt .... 


Account of Czcroi George . . . ^,. 


Cdiuila, or ih( Wishes : a Talt . . . 

Tlie Faithful Servant 

Account ol ibe.Savny 

The Fashiouaiilc .Match Maker; a Tale 
The Female T^Uler. — No. X 

Li.M.EY's s^liakspcaie's Dramatic Sod?3 

J 87 






R, \\. W.'s The Rural Wclrome to Bos- 


RiKs's " Ainanti Costaiifi" 

KamvIIUE.v.n Kit's Grand .Sonata for the 

Piano! oric 

DANNKLtv's " How gi.ilv (o Hamlet and 

Hill" '. 

Stevf.vson's The Cot iii ilie Vale . . 
llowEi.i/s Lessons in ali the .Major and 

iM inor Keys 

RiMJiAUi.TS The Shxc-Cohurg March 

and Waltz ■ . . . . 

Mozart's Graml Oviiltire 

to Idomeneo 

KiRins liilroUuttion,i.c. for the Piano- 


BuRuoWEs's Fourth An lur ihe Piauo- 

Foi to 

Droiet's Three Waltzes for the Flute 
The Tyroli.m A;r . . . . 


Conflagration of Moicow, fl^lmJAM^.b'^^ 


Aiiventuics of a Gre<k Laf'.y, fioniTLi.- 
l^\'^ Narrative oj (I fiesitkiac ut Tiipoli 


Lr.dics'Half Dress 

Bali Dress 







■ ii>. 


24 1 

General Observations 011 Fashion and 
Dress . 

Fashionable Furniture. — IVJona Marble 



Waterloo ". 


Dialogue between a Passcii^cr ami a 


223 ii Epigram on the Stati-.e of Vmus 



L Harrison, I'ljnter, ^73, Strnnd. 



Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are requested to transmit 
unnouncements of zvorks which they may have in hand, and we shall cheerfully insert 
them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense. New musical publications uiso, if 
a copy be addressed to the publisher, shall be duly noticed in our Review ; and ex n acts 
from nexu books, of a moderate length and of an interesting nature, suitable Jor our 
Selections, will be acceptable. 

Louisa Loveworlh and Adventures of a Legacy-Huntress in our next. 

Serena is informed, that the first view mentioned in her letter was given in the third 
volume of the First Series of the Repository ; and it is not improbable, that the other 
may be introduced into an early Number. 

Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every Month as 
fmblished, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New-York, Halifax, Quebec, and 
to any part of the West Indies, at £i ]2s. per Annum, by Mr. Thorn hill, of the General 
Post-Office, at No. 21, Sherborne- Lane ; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, or 
«ny Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Serjeant, of the General 
Post-Office, at No. 22, Sherborn lane ; and to the Cape of Good Hope, or any part of the 
Cast Indies, by Mr. GuY, at the East-India House. The money to be paid at the time of 
subscribing, for either 3, 6, 9, or 12 months. 


A Vl€^'^Jh>^'i.(GaE MOIUSIE 





Manufactures^ ^c. 


Vol. II. 

October 1, 1816. 

N«- X. 




The annexed design was in- 
tended for the residence of a cler- 
gyman, and purposed to be erected 
in a situation where the scenery is 

is devoted to its duties, and also 
leads the spectator very naturally 
fronn contemplating the dwelling, 
to regard the pious character of its 

both rural and romantic, and well inhabitant. Thisassociation hasoc- 
disposed to accord with the style j curred to a poet, whose works in- 

of building which may be consi- 
dered as peculiarly ecclesiastic, 
from the extensive patronage that 
architecture once received by the 
munificence of church ecovern- 

deed are nearly obsolete, but which 
will always be admired for taste 
and feeling, and is thus expressed 
by him : — 

" That simple dwelling slieltei'd by ibc wooil, 

ment. The parts of this design ) As courling now, now shunnitig solitude, 

were selected from the church it- 
self to which the vicara":e-house 
belongs, and with which it would 
correctly assimilate, j)articularly 
as the building was intended to 
be placed in its imn^icdiate neigh- 
bourhood. The practice of de- 
signing the residence of a clergy- 
man with reference to the charac- 
teristics of the church to which it 

belongs, where the style of archi- |[ 

lecture is favourable to such selcc- || observations on the dry-rot 
tions, is desirable, not only as re- I in buildings. 

lates to a tasteful advantage, but The decay of iiml)er, which is 
as it becomes another and visible ,, effected by a more speedy sejjara- 
link of connection between the ;, tion of its particles than usually 
church itself and the pastor who |j proceeds from the operation of wet 
I'ol II. No. X. it C c 

W ilU Gothic windows, and uith o|icii porch. 

In forms related to its luighbonring church, 

i«ceinii;n; less niodern than of happier age, 

Half hid l)y ivy — is tlie parsoncjrc. 

Its pious tenant, vuginsj fast in years. 

In grave but nnaft'eeted cuisc appears, 

And blest witli health, for fifty years have shed 

No silver marks of Folly on his head : 

I'or though Time's hand, with leady haste, 

The reverend furrow and the whitening' snows- 
Folly, more forward, l.-ivishly supplies 
All the nuich-honour'd emblems tf the wise." 



or^ damp, is sometimes termed the 
Dry .Rot, in contradistinction mere- 
ly, and without reference, to tliat 
decay which may properly be 
termed a disease, and which is 
communicable from the unsound 
to the healtliful timber in its neigh- 
bourhood ; and which decay is sim- 
ply one of the means of decompos- 
ing vegetable bodies, which nature 
has provided for the purposes of 
reproduction. In fact, the dry-rot 
in timber is that fermentation and 
consequentcorruption of its juices, 
which all vegetable, as well as ani- 
mal, substances are subject to after 
death, and which is promoted by 
the suitableness of the situation in 
which it is placed. During this ef- 
fort of nature towards decomposi- 
tion, the fixed air, which forms the 
cohesive principle, is liberated, and 
in a short time the particles of the 
timber are so separated from each 
other, that tlie whole is easily re- 
ducible to a fine powder. Fer- 
mentation must necessarily ensue 
when timber, in its green or unsea- 
soned state, is placed in situations 
where its humidity cannot escape 
sufficiently fast, and where that 
certain degree of heat is afforded 
to it wliich is essentially necessary, 
and connected with all vegetable 
fermentation. Under similar cir- 
cumstances, the vegetable products 
of our gardens and fields would 
proceed to decay ; to prevent which, 
the gardener and the husbandman 
expose their herbs cut for preser- 
T^ation, or grass cut for hay, to the 
rays of the sun, wliich, if sufficient- 
ly powerful to extract the humidi- 
ty from the objects of their care, 
are preserved, and at any time are 
fit for use, provided they are siill 
tept free from improper humidity : 

but if they are not so dried, and 
are allowed to remain in confined 
situations, or heaped in (piantities, 
a fermentation and corruption take 
place, that speedily destroy them : 
and this natural operation is the 
same with timber. The corruption 
of the juices of wood affords also a 
suitable nourishment to that class 
of vegetables termed Cryptogamia^ 
of the order of Fungi. These may 
be said to be truly parricidal, as 
they devour and exist upon the 
connecting quality of the timber 
whence they spring, communicat- 
ing with and destroying the sound 
timber to which they may reach in 
their rapid growth; and the fun- 
gi are nourished by that due pro- 
portion of heat and moisture which 
is proper to effect fermentation ; 
and these, in conjunction, form that 
climax of the disease which is usu- 
ally denominated the dry-rot : al- 
though it frequently exists, and 
with as much danger to the mate- 
rial, without the appearances of 

From the slow progress the fun- 
gus makes in very wet situations, 
it appears that excessive damps 
are inimical to it; for its growth is 
more rupid in proportion as the si- 
tuation is less damp, until arrived 
at that certain degree of moisture 
u'hich is alone suited to its produc- 
tion and vegetation. When further 
extended to dry situations, its ef- 
fects are more rapidly destructive 
of the timber on which it subsists : 
here it is very fibrous, and in part 
is covered with alight brown mem- 
brane, perfectly, soft and smooth. 
It is often of great magnitude, pro- 
jecting from the timber in a "white 
spongious excrescence, on the sur- 
face of which a profuse humidity 



is frequently observed ; at other 
times it consists only of a fibrous 
and tliin-coated web, spreading ir- 
regularly on the surface of the 
wood. Excrescences of a fungi- 
form appearance are often pro- 
truded amidst those already de- 
scribed, and are evidences of a very 
corrupt matter peculiar to the spots 
whence they spring. According 
to the situation and matter in which 
the}' are produced, they are dry 
and tough, or wet, soft, and fleshy, 
sometimes arising in several fun<i[i- 
forms, one above another, with- 
out any distinction of stem; and 
when the matter is differently cor- 
rupted, it not unfrequenily gene- 
rates the small acrid mushroom. 

Under these various appearances 
the fungus spreatls itself on the 
surface of the timber, and becomes 
attached by innumerable small and 
almost imperceptible fibres or 
tubes, by which it imbibes the sta- 
mina, and occasions the decompo- 
sition of the wood : the branches 
will insinuate themselves throuirh 
walls of very considerable thick- 
ness, and communicate the disease 
to the opposite side. On opening 
the bricks of walls which have ap- 
peared perfectly sound, the vege- 
table has been discovered passing 
through them in fibrous roots ; and, 
from this subtle disposition, has 
iistjally been discovered before the 
substantial parts have been so far 
decayed as to endanger the edifice. 

From whatever substance this 
vegetable springs, when once at- 
tached to the wood, it rapidly 
spreads around: each ramification, 
no longer dependant on the stem 
for sustenance, takes fresh hold, 
and supplies itself with nourish- 
weut until the whole of the part it 

occupies is entirely decomposed. 
Before this vegetable has time to 
destroy the girders and other prin- 
cipal timbers, it usually penetrates 
behind the skirtings, d;uloes, and 
waitiscotings, and is known to those 
acquainted with its effects, by draw- 
ing inward the edges of the boards, 
and by splitting them, both hori- 
zontally and vertically. W hen the 
fungus is taken off, they exhibit 
an appearance similar, both in back 
and front, to wood which is consi- 
derably charred: a light pressure 
with the hand will break them asun- 
der, even though aiVected with the 
rot but a short time ; and on taking 
down the wainscot, the fibrous and 
thin-coated fungus will generally 
be seen closely attached to the de- 
caying wood. 

The dry-rot being thus consider- 
ed as the consequence of vegetable 
putrefaction, aided by a due pro- 
portion of heat and moisture, it will 
appear that the disease may be pro- 
duced in some parts of buildings 
even where timber is not present, 
whence it may spread to and de- 
stroy the wood-work, although con- 
siderably removed from the source 
of the evil, and otherwise sound, 
well-seasoned, and capa!)le of long 
duration; for the ground on which 
we build is often replete with vege- 
table matter, the clay with such as 
the rains have conveyed into the 
fissures of it, and the loamy soil 
with fibrous roots and decajMng 
leaves. If the building at the 
foundation or under-ground story 
is so constructed as to be favour- 
able to produce fermentation, by 
affording proper heat and moi- 
sture, the ])ropagation of the fungi 
necessarily succeeds to the corrup- 
tion, and forms the vital part of the 
C c5 



disease. As mortar is often com- 
posed of a mixture of roatl-sand 
and lime, the former containing in 
it a large portion of soil peculiarly 
well suited to the germination of 
fungi, the building is subjected to 
the dry-rot from that circumstance; 
and drains, cesspools, and even 
wells, will occasionally supply the 
matter that generates the disease, 
and support it also, until nourished 
to extraordinary vigour, by the cor- 
rupt vapour that arises from them. 
The foundations of our houses also 
are too frequently receptacles for 

drainage water, which becomes 
stagnant in the trenches in which 
they are laid, and from which cor- 
rupt exhalations arise capable of 
producing the disease, if the tem- 
perature of the place combines 
with it. But whatever be the 
appearance, or whencesoever it 
springs, the causes of the diy-rot 
will be found to be, or to proceed 
from, th.e corruption of the timber 
itself, or some other vegetable pu- 
trescence. I. B. P. 
( To be continued.) 


; , • U-v !.,^ No. 

The favours of several corre- 
spondents are too extended for in- 
sertion in this paper, although, in 
other respects, well suited to its 
object, and, from their merit, de- 
serving particular regard. An 
abridgment of them would perhaps 
occasion the loss of valuable mat- 
ter; they are therefore omitted at 
present : but if the several authors 
will take upon themselves the task 
of abbreviation, their communica- 
tions shall be received with due at- 
tention. In the mean time, B. B. is 
^informed, that his letter shall ap- 
pear in our next, and we hasten to 
fulfil a duty to our friend Peram- 


Sir, — So fav from agreeing with 
those persons who are daily and 
querulously complaining of the 
Prince Regent and the government 
of the country for their encourage- 
ment of building, I fervently wish 
that they were enabled to expend 
?: large sum upon building a palace 


suitable to the high rank of the 
country, and in decorating it with 
splendour. Such a palace is not 
only a desideratum as a proper ap- 
pendage to royalty, but it would 
induce the rich to spend their mo- 
ney liberally, and thereby promote 
internal commerce: for, notwith- 
standing the prefcailing and gloomy 
declamations of impending ruin, 
there are thousands, nay, tens of 
thousands, of wealthy persons in 
England, whose surplus means 
would be well employed in imitat- 
ing such an example, and by that 
expenditure contribute their part 
to prevent it. Certainly this has 
been done, in some degree, by 
making Carlton-House an exam- 
ple of all that the taste of the 
country could produce, according 
to the limited — comparatively li- 
mited — means that can be applied 
to so desirable a purpose. And this 
proposed palace should be accom- 
panied by a court of corresponding 
splendour ; for it is in a court alone 
that fashions, fruitful of such ad'. 



vantages, can be expected to origi- 
nate; and such is its influence, that 
each change of mode, in all its 
branches, is adopted by all who can 
atford to impose upon themselves 
such a voluntary expenditure. 
, Suppose a palace should he pro- 
jected that would require tiie sum 
even uf three millions to complete 
with all its internal decorations anil 
furniture, and that it s!)ould take 
six years in erecting ; the sum 
chargcal)le upon the j)ublic would 
be half a niillion annually, collect- 
ed from several millions of inha- 
bitants: the share then imposed 
upon an individual holding a re- 
spectable rank, would amount to no 
more than seven shillings each year. 
Now, sir, supposing these data to 
be granted, and considering that a 
vast niunber of persons would be 
employed in erecting, decorating, 
and furnishing this palace, every 
article being of British manufac- 
ture, and the exampde of such a 
])alace causing the rich to iitiprove 
their residences, by which many 
hundred thousand pounds would 
1)0 expended annually, aiTording 
thereby encouragement to the in- 
genious, and bread to the industri- 
ous, would any one, I ask, possess- 
ing means of comfort — not to say- 
luxuries — and being satisfied of 
these results, murmur at paying 
qusirterly for six years the small 
sum of oneshilling and nine-pencei 
Bonaparte, perceiving that foreign 
commerce was not attainable for 
France, wisely emieavoured to cul- 
tivate internal commerce by simi- 
lar means : hence he erected splen- 
did public works, and encouraged 
taste in everv branch of the arts. 
This it was that induced him to 
make the Louvre the grand repo- 

|j sitorv ol w(jiks of line art, which, 
j had it remained entire, would have 
attracted visitors frouj every part 
of the world ; even now France, 
huud)led as she is, is allowed to 
give the law ir) taste and set the 
lashion to the English people. 


ST. MAUY i.r-; bonp: ni:vv ciiurcii. 
The plan of this church is de- 
signed after the manner of the an- 
cient temples, which were usually 
of a parallelogram or oblong li- 
gure; its chief entrance is embel- 
lished by an hexastyle portico of 
the Corinthian order, the entabla- 
ture of which is continued on eve- 
ry front of the building. At the 
end of the cella, or body of the 
church, there are projecting ajjart- 
ments, formed diagonally, and af- 
fording rather a novel accommoda- 
tion for the wealthy inhabitants of 
the parish. The very ancient cus- 
tom inChristian countries of placing 
the entrance to the west, and con- 
j sequently the opposite end, ajjpro 
priated to the communion-table, to 
I the east, has, in this instance, been 
violated, and not without a great 
sacrifice of architectural beauty, 
j that will be lamented by every man 
of tast,e so long as the church re- 
I tains a vestige of its portico; which, 
j however elegantly beautiful in form 
I and arrangement — and what por- 
tico is not so, tliat is jutliciously 
composed iVom the fine authorities 
of ancient architecture ? — must al- 
ways fail to delight, because there 
is a total absence of that brilliant 
and diversifying combination of 
liiJ[hi and shade w liich it oujiht to 
have, and has not, by being placed 
to the northward. In this aspect a 
portico loses aKo much of jts fit- 



ness, being originally rather in- 
tended as a protection from the 
rays of the sun than from wind or 
rain: and here it is nevervisited by 
its beams in the winter; and even 
in summer the beauties arising 
from reflected liglu, vvhicli the in- 
terior of a portico receives in every 
other aspect, is here obtained but 
in a very hmited dei^ree : thus, in- 
stead of delighting by varied ef- 
fects of light, a picturesque display 
of sliadow, and beautifully modi- 
fied reflected tints, a portico, so 
situated, becomes statelily sepul- 
chral, gloomy, cold, damp, and 
cheerless. One document of anti- 
quity certainly presents an exam- 
])\e of a portico so situated, but this 
is the Pantheon at Rome, original- 
ly, perhaps, a temple dedicated to 
fire and the sun, and its entrance 
so placed, from some obvious rea- 
son, suitable to the tenets of the su- 
perstition. The portico was sub- 
sequently added, but the first ap- 
proach retained ; and although the 
great beauty of this portico is ac- 
knowledged, that it is so situated 
has always been lamented, not- 
withstanding the portico projects 
considerably, and the building is 
circular, both circumstances great- 
ly in its favour. The error in plac- 
ing the church of St. Mary le Bone 
in this position, originated in the 
endeavour to thrust a large build- 
ing into a piece of ground in all 
respects very inadequate to the 
object in view: a spot on the op- 
posite side of the road would have 
given a proper aspect, greater 
space, and being considerablymore 
elevated, would have rendered this 
church doubly ornamental to the 
metropolis and honourable to the 

In the design of this clinrch the 
Roman style of order is mixed with 
some Italian peculiarities, and the 
whole combined with reference to 
Grecian taste: in fact, it appears 
to have been the endeavour of the 
architect to unite in this building, 
intended to form a dignified whole, 
whatever might be usefully adopt- 
ed from the various ages and coun- 
tries of systematized architecture ; 
and, under the circumstances of the 
alteration that took place, by which 
the building was increased from a 
chapel to an edifice of superior 
magnitude and character, it was a 
difficult task to unite the parts in 
such a way that the combination 
should be complete: this is not 
quite so perfect as could be wish- 
ed, but perha{)s is more so than 
might have been expected. In 
building a Christian church, the 
architect, from long -established 
custom, is obliged to contend with 
a difficulty arising from the absurd 
practice of appending a steeple to 
it. The steeple formed no part of 
the Greek or Roman temple, the 
prevailing lines of which are hori- 
zontal; but that of the steeple is 
a vertical one, which, however 
suited to its early and original style 
of architecture, and to the later 
forms of the Gothic character, in 
which such lines prevail, is most in- 
auspiciousto thedesign ofaGrecian 
edifice: for in it the great transom, 
or entablature above the columns, 
assuminfr to be the leading line of 
the composition, the abrupt and 
vertical one of the steeple must al- 
ways be in discord with it; and if 
the architect attempts in his design 
to make the steeple itself conform 
to the laws of Grecian art, the trans- 
verse lines of the various entablar 



tures, cornices, and imposts, de- 
stroy its lineal harmony. 

Domes, towers, spirus, steeples, 
and turrets are, however, the ehief 
ornaments ol u city when viewed 
aiadistance ; withoutthem, "Beau- 
tiful Florence" would be unnoticed 
by the traveller, and London and 
Paris would appear, as we ap- 
proached them, little better than 
smoking assemblages of dirty ware- 

It is to be wished, that the cir- 
.cumstance first alluded to had not 
occasioned the want of proportion 
evident in the steeple of this 
thurcli; it is too small for the 
buildinjjj, and unfitted to its por- 
tico : had the basement been larger, 
and connected with the beautiful ' 
circular temple by a circular ca- | 
vetto, similar to that of the lanthorn j 
of Demosthenes at Athens, as re- * 
presented by Stuart, the contour 
would have been easier in its de- i 
parture from the square to the cir- 
cle, and the bases of the columns 
would not have been hid as they 
are at present, unless the spectator t 
be at a very considerable distance. 
The intention of coiitinuinjx the 
vertical lines of the small columns 
by means of the figures above, is 
good, but the eflfect necessarily 
fails from the number of statues 
being diminished, by which cir- 
cumstance the lines are rather car- 
ried outwards than conducted to 
the apex of the dome, where they 
should always tend, and then wil- 
lingly unite. On the subject of 

applying caryatides, or figures in 
similar situations, much has been 
said and written by authors both 
in favour of and against them ; 
therefore, as a matter of fitness, 
different opinions will be enter- 
tained: but it becomes the duty of 
the archite^ to consider the pro- 
priety of adopting them, from the 
circumstance of their appearing 
too small and insignificant if they 
are not very much larger than life, 
and also from the well-known fact 
of their diminishing, by compari- 
son, every thing connected with 
them if they are so. 

Notwithstanding all the difficul- 
ties that circumstances and vacil- 
lating resolutions have presented, 
this church is a very magnificent 
building, creditable to the archi- 
tect, and a splendid ornament to 
the north-west of the metropolis. 
At some future time, perhaps, the 
interior of the church may be the 
subject of a few remarks in this 
paper; at present our limited space 
will not permit it further than to 
observe, that it is of a novel ar- 
rangement, that the ceiling is hand- 
some, and that the church contains 
an organ of very extensive com- 
pass, being from i ¥F to F in alt, 
with a swell as low as C in the bass. 
The diapasons and pedal-jiipes are 
unusually grand, and the trumpet- 
stop has its full effect, without the 
predominancy too common in 
church organs. It was built by 
Gray, and it is understood that Mr. 
C. Wesley is appointed organist. 



C Continued from p. 13k^ 


Antonio Filaketi, of Florence, 1430. 
A metal gate to St. Peter's, at Rome. 

ALEssANDRoLEOPARDo,oi"Venic'e, 14-30. 
- Many works at Venice. He assisted 
in the equestrian statue oT Bartolorneo 

Paolo Romano, of Rome, 1430. The 
twelve Apostles, in silver, for the Ca- 
pella Papale at Rome. An equestrian 
statue in the same city. 

Jacopo della Q.UEUCIA, of Siena, 1430. 
Model for the gates to S. Giovanni 
Battista, at Florence, in competition 
with Ghiberti. 

BuoNACOiiso Ghiberti, of Florence, 
1440. The ornaments for the bronze 
gates to S. Giovanni Baitista, made by 
his father. He was distinguished for 
his exquisite taste in ornaments in 

NiccoLO, of Arezzo, 14t0. Mode! for 
the gates of S. Giovaimi Battista at 
Florence, in competition with Ghi- 

Vellano, of Padua, 1450. Bronze sta- 
tue of Pope Paul II. at Perugia. Se- 
veral other statues and basso relievos 
nt Padua, especially in the church of 
S. Antonio there. 

Bertoldo, of Venice,^ 1450. Several 
admirable statues in bronze, smaller 
than life, and many beautiful basso 
relievos in bronze at Florence. 

Partigiam, of Fiesole, 1450. Several 
statues and ornaments in the church of 
the Serviles at Florence. 

Michele MicHELOzzOjof Venice, 1450. 
S'.atue of Religion for the monument 
of Giovanni Coscia, in the church of S. 
Giovanni Battista at Florence. A St. 
John in the same place. Several good 
basso relievos there. 

Pietro da Como, of Como, 1450. Va- 
rious works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Lorenzo Canozio, of Padua, 1450. 
Many works in wood, marble, and 
bronze, at Padua, especially in the 
church of St. Anihony in that city. 

Verocchio, of Florence, 1450. Many 
works in bronze and silver, especially 
at Venice. This artist was the first of 
the moderns that began to model in 
plaster from nature, by which means 
he gave great truth to the subjects 
which he treated. 

Ursino Cerajuolo, of Florence, 1450. 
Many statues in wax, which he co- 
loured with oil colours, at Florence, 
particularly in the church of the Ser- 

Ma TTEoPASTAjofVerona, 1450. Works 
at Rimini, for the hou>c of Malaiesia. 

Matted Civitali, of Lucca, 1450. 
Adam and Eve, Zacharias, Elizabeth, 
and two pnipliet.<, in the chapel of S. 
Giovanni in the cathedral of Genoa. 
St. Sebastian, the statues for the altar 
of S. ReguUis, and a great part of the 
statues about the church of S. Michael 
at Lucca. He displayed profound 
sensibility and dignity in style and 
execution, and was the greatest Chris- 
tian sculptor prior to Michael Angelo. 

Studenti, of Modena, 1450. Bronze 
casts of statues. 

AntonioFiorentino, of Florence, 1460, 
Statue of Pope Pius II. on the Ponto 
Mollc, at Rome. Many works at Ve- 
rona. A bronze equestrian statue of 
the Duca Borso di Ferrara, at Ferrara, 

Angelo del Fiore, of Naples, 1460. 
Many tombs at Naples. 

Richard Aertsz, of Wyck am Meer, in 
Holland, 1460. Two basso relievos 
for the altar of a church at Harlefli. 
Many ornaments. 

AiVDREA CicciONE, of Naples, 1460. 



Tonih of Queen Margaret, and lonib 
nlKing Ladislans, at Sulcniu. 
NiccoLA dell' Akca, of Bologna, 1460. 
He finished the sarcophai^ns of S. l)o- 
menico at Bologna, begun by Niccola 
da Pisa. 
BahtolommeoCortelmno, of Bologna. 
He assisted in the sartojjliagus of S. 
Andrea Contucci, called Sansovino, 
of Monte Sansovino in Tuscany, 1480. 
St. John Baptist, in marble, a Bacchus, 
and several other works, at Horence. 
Two monuments in S. Maria del Po- 
polo, at Rome. Several statues at Lo- 
reto, Assisi, Siena, and in Portiij;al. 
Jacopo CozzEiiELLO, of Siciia, 1480. 
Many statues and basso relievos in 
churches and convents at and about 
Francesco di Stefano, of Siena, 1480. 

Works in the cathedral of Orvitto. 
ViTO DI Marco, of Italy, 1480. Works 

in the cathedral of Orvieto. 
Luca, of Italy, 1480. Works in the ca- 
thedral of Orvieto. 
Vitus Stoss, of Cracow, 1480. Many 
crucifixes and statues of saints at Nurn- 
berg, Cracow, Posen, and Warsaw. 
Andrea Ferrl'cci, of Fiesole, 1480. 
Many works at Pistoja, Volterra, Flo- 
rence, Naples, and lor several towns 
of Hungary. 
Gerolamo Genga, of Urbino, 1500. 
Many works at Urbino, Florence, 
Mantua, Siena, and Hotne. 
Albert Diireh, of Nvirnberg. Admi- 
rable crucifixes, and u great quantity 
of smaller works in wood arul ivory. 
Michael Anuf lo Buonauotti, of Flo- 
rence, 1 520. Bacchus at I'lorence ; 
Cnpid. Moses in S. Pictro in Vincu- 
lisatRonie. David at Florence. Head 
of a F'aun in the gallery of Ilcix^nce. 
Battle between Hercules ami the Cen- 
taurs. A Madonna, Basso relievos. 
A Hercules. Crucifixes in wood. Fi- 
gures for the shrine of St. Dominic at 
Bologna. A sleeping Cupid. A Pieia 
in St. Peter's, at Rome. Tomb uf Pope 
f'ol II. No. X. 

Julius II. Statue of the same pope at 
Bologin. Christ in the Minerva — l?e- 
sides many other works. His style 
was original, j^rand, and formed from 
the study of the antique and of nature. 
His works were remarkable for bold- 
ness, and for the precision with \\ hich 
the muscular movements were ex- 

Peter Fischlu, of Niirnberg, 1.520. 
The admirable monument of St. Se- 
baldns, in the church of that name at iiberg, in bronze. Vai ions works, 
in bronze, in Bohemia and Hungary. 
His style was grand and noble, found- 
ed on the s'udy of nature and the an- 
tique, and his execution exteilent. 

Melciiioh Bayr, of Niirnbt-rg, 1520. 
Many works, in silver and bronze, at 
Niirnberg and Augsburg. 

Tasso, of Fhuence, 1520. The altar- 
piece, of mat ble, in the church of St. 
Clara at Fh-rence. Statue of St. Se- 
bastian, of wood, in the church of St. 
Ambrose, in the same city. 

Tatti, of Florence, 1520. First cast of 
the Laocoon, in bronze. Many sta- 
tues, in bronze and marble, at Venice, 
Rome, Padua, Florence, and other ci- 
ties of Italy. 

The artists here named as work- 
ers in mosaic were all masters by 
profession, and confined themselves 
wholly to that branch of the arts: 
but, besides their produciiotis, ma- 
ny mosaics were in those times ex- 
ecuted hv painters and sculptors. 
Amonii tlie former are included 
Giotto; Gaddo Gaddi ; Fra Jaco- 
po di Turrita, who assisted in de- 
corating the chapel of the high 
altar in the Lateran at Rome, and 
theprincipal pulpitin thecaihedral 
of Pisa; Vicino, of Florence, who 

I executed the iinag;e of the Madon- 
na in the principal pulpit of the 

i cathedral of Pisa ; and many others. 
D D 


To the latter belongs, besides Pie- 
tro Cavallini, who is mentioned be- 
low, Giovanni da Pisa, who exe- 
cuted himself the beautiful mosaic 
work for his altar-piece at Arezzo. 

ApoLLONius, of Greece, 1250. Many 
work-! in the church of St. Mark at 
Venice, where several other Greek 
artists were emploj'ed. Wcirks in the 
BcUiisterio «)f S. Giovanni in Florence. 

Andrea Tafj, -of Florence, 1270. A co- 
lossal Christ in the Battisterio of S. 
Giovanni at Florence, and other small 
works there. 

Antonio Tafi, of Florence, 1300. Va- 
rious works in several churches and 
convents in Florence. 

Gervino, of Spolelo, 1320. Various 
works at Spoleto, Perugia, and Siena, 
but especially in the cathedral of Or- 

Andrea, of St. Miniato, 1320. Works 
at St. Miniato, and in the cathedral of 

Lapo, of Florence, 1320. Works in the 
cathedral of Orvieto, and at Florence. 

Ugolino, of Florence, 1320. Works in 
the cathedral of Orvieto, in several 
convents in Tuscany and in the Eccle- 
siastical States. 

CoRso Di DoMENico, of Orviclo, 1320. 
Works in the cathedral of Orvieto, 

PiETRo Cavallini, of Rome. 1320. The 
ship of Giotto in St. Peter's, at Rome. 
The facade of S. Paolo without the 
city. The fafade of S. Maria inTras- 
tevere, at Rome. The original draw- 
ing of the ship by Giotto is in the con- 
vent of the Capuchins at Rome. 

CoNsiGLio, of Monle Leone, 1320. 
Works in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Ghino, of MoiUe Leone, 1520. Works 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Cola, of Monle Leone, 1 320. Works in 
the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Scaglione, of Assisi, 1320. Many 
works in the cathedral of Orvieto, at 
Assisi,, Loreto, and other places. 

Angioletto, of Giibbio, 1320. Works 

in various churches at Rome, in the 
Ecclesiastical States, and in the cathe- 
dral of Orvieto. 

BoNNiNi, of Perugia, 134-0. Many works 
at Perugia, ai>d in the cathedral of 

AngeLijccio Landi, of Rome, 1340. 
Various works at Rome, and in the ca- 
thedial of Orvieto. 

Andrea Landi, of Rome, 13*0. Various 
works at Rome, at Siena, and in the 
cathedral of Orvieto. 

Nello Jacopini, of Rome, 131-0. Va- 
rious works at Rome, and in the ca- 
thedral of Orvieto. 

Andrea Cione, of F'iorence, 1360. 
Many works at Florence, and in the 
cathedral of Orvieto. 

TiNO DI BiAGio, of Assisi, 1360. Many 
works at Assisi, Spoleto, and in the 
cathedral of Orvieto. 

Niccola o'Andrea, of Rome, 1360. 
Various works at Rome, and in the ca- 
thedral of Orvieto. 

Matted Cione, of Florence, 1360. 
Many works at Florence, Siena, Pisa, 
Lucca, and in the cathed ral of Orvieto. 

Matteo da Bologna, of Bologna, I 360. 
Various works at Bologna, and in the 
cathedral of Orvieto. 

Lorenzo nl Casale, of Casale, 1360. 
Some works in the cathedral of Or- 

Ambrogio, of Florence, 1370. Many 
works at Florence, and in the cathedral 
of Orvieto, 

Francesco, of Florence, 1370. Many 
works at Florence, Pisa, Lucca, Siena, 
and in the cathedral Of Orvieto. 

Lippo, of Florence, 1380. Many works 
at Florence, Lucca, Assisi, and in the 
cathedral of Orvieto. 

Giovanni Cimabue, of Florence. Born 
1240; died 1300. The back of the 
altar in St. Cecilia's. A Madonna ia 
S. Croce. A S. Francesco. A Ma- 
donna, with the infant Jesus and many 
angels, upon a gold ground, now iq 


tlie gallery at Florence. An altar- 
piece for S. Francesco at Pisa. A 
Madonna, a S. Agnesa, and a Christ, 
at the same place. The life of Christ, 
and of S. Francesco, at Assisi. Winks 
ill S. Spirito, and the celebrated i\Ia- 
donna in S. iMaria Novella at Flo- 
rence. He was a pupil of the Greek 
masters who were employed in tht: 
Capelle de Goniii in S. Maria Novclln, 
at Florence. He executed a crucihx i 
in wood for S. Croce at Florence, and 
also attempted to paint in fresco. 
Giotto, of Vespignano, in Tuscany. 
Born 1270; died 1330. Amiuiicialion 
of the Virgin Mary in the chapel of 
the high altar, together with the altar- 
piece in the abbey at Florence. A 
coron.ition of the Madonna, an Annun- 
ciatioiij and the life of St. Francis, in 
the refectory of S. Croce, in the same 
city. The life of S. Giovanni Battista 
in the church del Carmine, at Flo- 
rence. A St. Francis at Pisa. Seve- 
ral paintings in the Campo Santo at 
Pisa. Various paintings in the old 
church of St. Peter at Rome. Design 
for the ship by Giotto in St. Peter's, at 
Rome. Various works in the Miner- 
va, in that city. Various works at 
Ravenna, Ferrara, Arezzo, Avignon, 
and Urbino. Portraits of Dante, Bru- 
netto, and Clement V. He was a pu- 
pil ofCimabue, and the real father of 
modern painting. 
BuoNAMU) BuFi ALMACco, of Florence, 
1300. The life of our Saviour in the 
church of the nunnery of Faenza, at 
Florence. Life of St. James in the 
abbey of Settimo. Paintings in S. 
Petronio, at Bologna, at Assi-i, at 
Arezzo, in S. Paolo and the Campo 
Sauto at Pisa, at Cortona, at Perug'a, 
in S. Maria Novella at Florence, and { 
in other churches there i 

OuERiGi u'Agubbio, of Agubbio, 1300. 

ings for the library of Pope Benedict 
Puccto Capanna, of Florence, 13J0. 
Paintings in the church of St. Francis 
at Assisi; in the church of S. Trinitd 
at Florence; in that of St. Francesco 
at Pistoja, and in the church of S. Do- 
meriico, in the same tow.i, a crucifix, 
a Madonna, and a S. Giovanni. Many 
other works at Bologna and Florence. 
He was a pupil of Giotto. 
Duccio, of Siena, 1310. Many works 

at Siena, Florence, Pisa, and Lucca. 
Giovanni Bonnini, of Assisi, 1320. 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 
Puccio, ofGiibbio, 1320. Many works 

in the cathedral of Orvieto. 
Gecco, of Gubbio, 1320. Many works 

in the cathedral of Orvieto. 
FRANCEscoGiAcoMO,ofCamerino, 1320. 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 
' Ottaviano DA Faenza, of Faenza, 1320. 
, A Madonna over the gate of S. I'ran- 
! cesco at Faenza, Many works in S. 
Giorgio, at Ferrara, at Bologna, at 
Faenza, and other places. 
Lello, of Perugia, 1320. Various works 
at Perugia, and in the cathedral of 
Tad DEO Gaddi, 1320. Many woiks in 
S. Croce at Florence; in the convent 
and church ci S. Spirito, S. Siefiino 
del Pome Vectlno, the Oratorio di S. 
Michele in Orto, and the church of 
the Serviles, in the i^ame cfy. Works 
in fresco at Arezzo, at S. Ago'-lino, at 
Pisa, and in the Capitolo of S. Maria 
Novella at Florence. Next to Ste- 
fano, he was the most eminent of the 
pupils of Giotto. 
Pace de Faenza, of Faenzn, 1320. Va- 
rious works j.t Bologna and Faenza, 
and in the cathedral of Orvieto. He 
was a pupil ot CJiutlo. 

Many admirable miniatures for the j Simone Memmi, of Siena, 1320. Por- 
library of Pope Benedict IX. at Rome, ] trait of Petrarch's Laura. Many works 
Franco Bolognese, of Bologna, 1300. ! at Avignon, at Rome, and more espe- 
Extremely beautiful miniature paint- !i cialiy in the palace della Signoria at 

D D 2 



Siena. Many works in S. Maria No- 
vella and ill tlie caihedial at Flo- 
rence, and in the Cam po Santo at Pisa. 
He was a pupil of Giotto, and excelled 
in many branches uf ihe art. 
PiETUO Lalrati, of Siena, 1320. The 
Preseiitalion in the Temple on tlie 
staircase of the hospital at Siena. Va 
rious works in the Cainpo Santo at 
Pisa. A Madonna, with angels, in S. 
Francc:co at Pistoja. The chapel of 
the hij;h altar in the chinch della Pieve 
at Arezzo, besides several other pic- 

• tures tliere. Many works at Rome 
and Curlona, He was a pupil of 

Ugolino, of Orvielo, 1320. Many 
works in the cathedral of Orvielo, 

GuGLiELMO DA FouLi, of Forli, 1320. 
The chapel of the high altar in the 
church of S. Domenico at Forli, be- 
sides many other woiks in that and 
neighbouring towns. He was a pupil 
of Giotto. 

SfEFANO, of Florence, 1320, xAn ex- 

• (juisite Madonna in the Campo Santo 

at Pisa, in which he surpassed hi* 
master, Giotto, both in design and co- 
louring. Works in the convent of S. 
Spirilo atFlorence, for which he paint- 
ed an admirable picture of the Trans- 
figuration. Many works in Ara Coeli 
at Rome, St. Peter's at Milan, at Pis- 
toja, and other towns in Italy- He was 
a pupil of Giotto, whom he excelled in 
colouring and design ; he was particu- 
larly distinguished for the representa- 
tion of the naked figure, and the move- 
ment of figures under draperies. 
PiETuo Cavallini, of Rome, 1320. 
Many works at Rome, where he ex- 
ecuted in mosaic the ship of St. Peter, 
alter the drawings of Giottp. Works, 
in fresco, in Ara Cccli, S. Maria in 
Trastevere, St. Cecilia in Trastevere, 
and St. Peter's at Rome. Works in S. 
Marco and S. Basilio at Florence. A 
crucifixion at Assi^i and at Orvielo. 
He was a pupil of Giotto, and of dis- 
tinguished merit in fresco. 
( To be continued.) 


Qintuiiiinir authentic Receipts and miscellaneous In/ornialion in every Branch of 
Domestic Economy, and of general Utility. 


The sulphur which is procured 
m the roasting of copper ores is 
apt to contain, besides earthy im- 
purities, a very notable portion of 
arsenic; while, on the other hand, 
the sulphur ininorted from Sicily, 
in particular, is free from tliis con- 
tamination. As this article forms 
one of those remedies which are 
frequently resorted to as a domes- 
tic medicine, it is certainly a mat- 
ter of some importance to ascer- 
tain, in an easy and expeditious 
manner, its purity, which may he 

Take 100 grains of the sulphur 
to be examined ; put it into a Flo- 
rence flask, and pour over it about 
four ounces of oil of turpentine; 
heat the mixture over a l.iinp till it 
has boiled for a few minutes, then 
pour the solution, whilst hot, into a 
six or eight-ounce vial, stop it with 
a cork, and shake it till the liquor 
has cooled down to the tempera- 
ture of the hand. It will now be 
quite turbid with sulphur that has 
separated from the oil during cool- 
ing, and being filtered throu5;;i tow, 
placed in a glass funnel, a clear 
fluid will be obtained. This being 
done, transfer the oil again upon 

accomplished by the following pro- ;j the sulphur remaining in the flask, 
cess:— I and let it be heated and filtered a 



secontl time. By repeating this 
operation tour or five times, there 
will be left only a brownish orantje 
residue, on which the oil refuses to 
act any longer. This residue, be- 
ing laid on a piece of earthen-ware, 
is to be exposed to a heat not high- 
er than that of melting lead, till it 
ceases to exhale any sulphureous 
vapour ; being then rubbed up 
with a little n)oistened charcoal, 
and pressed into the bowl of a to • 
bacco-pij)e, or any other conve- 
nient vessel, it is to be heated 
nearly red hot, upon which a white 
vapour will arise, and shiew itself 
to be arsenic by its peculiar garlic 
odour. The sulphur precij)itated 
from the oil of turpentine may be 
entirely freed from this latter by 
exposure to the air and light for a 
day or two; it will then be of a 
beautiful sparkling yellow colour, 
far superior to that of common 
flowers of sulphur, and entirely in- 
odorous. The conmion English 
sulphur, or roll brimstone, some- 
times contains full -^y of insoluble 
residue, chiefly composed of arse- 
nic. The best Sicilian sulphur 
contains hardly more than three 
per cent, of residue, which is a mix- 
ture of different kinds of earths : 
hence it affords no arsenical odour 
when heated with charcoal ; and 
this is the reason of the universal 
preference given by the manufac- 
turers of oil of vitriol, or sulphuric 
acid, to Sicilian over English sul- 

fras wood ; reduce these substances 
to a coarse jjowder, sprinkle thena 
over with a few drops of otto of 
roses, and sew them up in a coarse 
muslin or silken bag. These bags, 
when laid in the wardrobe among 
garments, not only impart to them 
a pleasant scent, l)ut contribute 
also to preserve the clothes from 
being injured by moths and other 

Take the tops of rosemary, la- 
vender, rose-leaves, the clippings 
of cedar, cassia lignea, and sassa- 


Lighter, whiter, and better fla- 
voured bread than that made at 
Debretzin, in Hungary, is seldom 
to be met with; and as this bread 
is made without yeast, about which 
such a hue and cry is often raised, 
and with a substitute which is adi}' 
mass, tliat may be easily preserved 
and transported, nay, which mav 
be kept six months or more, I 
deem it necessary that the process 
should be more known. The fer- 
ment is thus made : — Two handfuls 
of hops are boiled in four quarts of 
water ; this is poured upon as much 
wheaten bran as can be well moist- 
ened by it; to this are added four 
or live pounds of leaven ; when this 
is only warm, the mass is well 
worked together to mix the differ- 
ent parts. The mass is then put 
in a warm place for twenty-four 
hours, and after that it is divided 
into small pieces, about the size of 
a hen's e^^ or a small orange, 
which are dried by being placed 
upon aboard, and exposed to a dry 
air, but not to the sun ; when dry 
tl'.ey are laid by for use, and may 
be kept half a year. This is tlic 
ferment, which may be used in the 
following manner : — Eor baking of 



six large loaves six good handfuls 
of these balls, previously broken 
into pieces, are taken (the loaves 
measure near half a cubic yard), 
and dissolved in seven or eight 
quarts of warm water. This is 
poured through a sieve into one end 
of the trough, and three quarts 
more of warm water are poured 
through the sieve after it, and what 
remains in the sieve is well pressed 
out. This liquor is mixed up with 
so much flour as to form a mass of 
the size of a large loaf. This is 
strewed over with flour; the sieve, 
with its contents, is put upon it, 
and the whole is covered up warm, 
and left till it has risen enough, 
and its surface has begun to crack ; 
this forms the leaveu. Then fifteen 
quarts of warm water, in which six 
handfuls of salt have been dissolv- 
ed, are poured through the sieve 
upon it, and the necessary quan 

place in a publication devoted- f(> 
the diffusion of useful knowledge. 
Puty=the direct strength, or cohe- 
sive force of a square inch 
of the material ; 
h = the breadth ; 
c=the depth, or the dimen- 
I sion in the direction of the 

{ pressure; and 

j /=the length. Then the la- 

I teral or transverse strength of a 

i , , ^ . f b d' 

rectangular beam or bar, is • . . 

i if supported at one end, and 

I ^fbdc ., J u . , 

! — ■:7~. ir supported at both ends. 

i *^^ 

j The lateral strength of a square 

j beam or bar, when its diameter is 

I /" d^ 

[ placed vertically, is '^^^j^ if sup- 

f d^ 
ported at one end, and -rrr 


supported at both ends. In this 
case^is ihediagonal. Thestrength 

tity of flour is added, and mixed ji of a square beam is least when the 

and kneaded with the leaven : this '' force is in the direction of the dia- 

is covered up warm, and left for l gonal. 

about one hour. It is then formed \\ The lateral strength of a solid 

into loaves, which are kept in a ii i. , ■ f V ^^ 


warm room half an hour, and after Ij •'^ 4/ 

that they are put into the oven, 
where they remain two or three 
hours, according to the size. The 
great advantage of this ferment is, 
that it maybe made in great quan- 
tities at a time, and kept fit for 
use. Might it not, on this account, 
be useful on board of ships, and 
likewise for armies when in the 
field ? 


The following rules for ascer- 
taining the strength of materials 
being new, and of practical utilit}-, 
it is presumed they are worthy of a 

if supported at 

one end, and ■ ' , if supported 

at both ends. In this case r is the 
radius, and ;? = 3. 14159 &,c. 

The lateral strength of a tube, or 

hollow cylinder, is . . . 

if supported at one end, and 

—^ — TT—. if supported at both 

The lateral strength of a trian- 
05643/6 d^ 

gularbeam or bar, is 


if supported at one end, and 

.22572 f'b d^ ., , , . 
-j if supported at both 




The strength of a solid cylinder, 

pillar, or column, to resist a force 

ar-ting in the direction of its axis, is 

8/" /•♦ , . , 

■z — -7' wnere e is the extension 

be l^ 

of the material at the time of frac- 
ture. The diameter of a column 
may be so great in proportion to 
its length, that a less force than that 

necessary to hend it, would crash 
it. The force necessary to crush a 
homogeneous solid cylinder, is 

If the rule above given be cor- 
rect, the following table will shew 
the weight that would break or crush 
cylinders of diflerent kinds of ma- 
terials : — 


Direct strength of a 
square inch. 

VVeiglit 111 I1j8. tliat 

will (-rush a cyliii- 

<!cr an inch in dia- 


Utight ill lbs. that 
will criisli a cylin- 
der whose base is 
one foot in area. 

Cast iron . . . 


Freestone , . . 
Fine freestone 

















Take a ton of common clay, free 
from stones, add to this from seven 
to eight bushels of sifted small- 
coal, and as much dung (or any 
other vegetable substance that can 
be procured at a cheap rate, for 
example, the exhausted tanner's 
bark,) as will work with the clay 
into a homogeneous mas.s. Huvin<r 
done this, form the mass into such 
sized balls or lumps as will suit 
your fire-grate. In the Low Coun- 
tries, where the peasants are ac- 
quainted with the advantages of 
this cheap fuel, the size of the 
balls is usually three or four inches 
square; though they may be made 
either larger or sinaller, according 
to the quantity of fire required. 
When the mass has been formed 
into lumps or balls, it vvill be ne- 
cessary to lay thorn in a shed to dry 
gradually for use, for they then burn 
much better than when newly made 
and still wet. But in case you are 
pbliged to use them inmiediately. 

it is very proper lo lay a few of 
the balls eitlur beliind or near the 
fire, to get dry speedily, \\hen 
the fire Ijurns clear, place some of 
the balls in the front of the grate, 
as you do with large or round coals, 
when the advantages of these fire- 
balls will soon become evident, for 
they not only burn exceeding clear, 
without much smoke, but give also 
a more lasting heat than an equal 
quantity of coals would afford. 
From some experiments that have 
been made in this meLro|)olis, we 
are authorised to state the followino- 
particulars. — The charge of a load 
of clay does not exceed 5s. or 6s. ; 
the labour of making up the balls 
about 2s. 6d. dung 25. small-coal, 
called slack, worked up with the 
claj-and dung (supposing the coals 
at 2s, per bushel,) 12s. : and thus 
it appears that the whole cost of 
making up a ton of clay will not 
exceed 1/. Is ; though it might be 
easily shewn that the balls thus 
produced are preferable to, and will 
do much more service than, a chal- 



dron of coals, — Those who are in- 
clined to make use ot" this econo- 
iTiical fuel are to take notice, that 
the balls are not to be laid on till 
the fire burns clear and brisk. 


This very rich vivid crimson co- 
lour, which sfdiids zce/l, was origi- 
nally prepared from an insect call- 
ed Kermes (Coccus Jiicis), from 
which it takes its name; but is now 
obtained from the cochineal insect, 
the colouring matter of which is 
extracted, and chemically combin- 
ed with the earth of alum or alu- 
mine. It is best prepared in the 
following manner: — 

Into a 14-gallon boiler of well- 
tinned copper, put 10 gallons of 
distilled or very clear rain-water; 
spring-water will not do. When 
the water boils, sprinkle in by de- 
grees 1 lb, of fine cochineal, pre- 
viously ground in a clean marble 
mortar to a moderately fine pow- 
der; keep up a slow boiling for 
about half an hour, and then add 
3^oz. of crystallized super -car- 
bonate of soda; in a minute or 
two afterwards draw the fire, and 
add to the liquor l|oz, of alum, 
previously finely pulverized; stir 
the mass with a clean stick till the 
alum is dissolved; then leave it to 
settle for half an hour; draw off 
the clear liquor with a glass syphon, 
and separate the sediment from the 
residue by straining it through a 
close linen cloth. Replace the clear 
liquor in the boiler, and stir in 
the white of two or three eggs, pre- 
viously well beaten with a quart of 
water: then light the fire again. 
and heat the liquor till it begins to 
boil, at which time the albumen 

of the egg will coagulate and com- 
bine with the basis or earth of the 
alum and the finest part of the 
colouring matter. This sediment 
is carmine, which being separa- 
ted by filtration, and well washed 
in the filter with distilled water, is 
to be spread very thin on an earth- 
en plate, and slowly dried on a 
stove, after which it is ready for 
use. The finest part of the co- 
louring matter of the cochineal be- 
ing thus separated, the residue is 
usually employed in the prepara- 
tion of lake, in the following man- 

Preparation of Cochineal Lake. 

Add 2 lbs. of subcarbonate of 
potash to the red liquor from which 
the carmine was precipitated, and 
return it into the boiler, together 
with the dregs of the cochineal, 
and boil the whole gently for about 
half an hour; then draw the fire, 
and after the sediment has subsid- 
ed, draw off all the clear liquor 
into clean earthen-ware vessels. 
Then pour upon the sediment a 
second alcaline ley, prepared by 
dissolvinjz 1 lb. of subcarbonate of 
potash in two gallons of water, 
and boil this also upon the dregs 
for half an hour, by which process 
the whole of tlie colouring matter 
will be extracted. Separate by 
filtration the liquor from the dregs, 
and return both the alcaline solu- 
tions into the boiler. When this 
bath is as hot as the hand can bear, 
add, by degrees, 3 lbs. of finely 
pulverized alum; observing not to 
add a second portion till the effer- 
vescence from the first has entirely 
subsided. When the whole of the 
alum has been put in, raise the 
fire till the liquor simmers, and 
continue it at this temperature for 


al)OUt five minutes, at wliich tiine 
if a little is taken out and put into 
a wine-glass, it will be found to 
consist of a coloured sediment dif- 
fused tliroufrh a clear fluid. On 
suffering the mixture to stand un- 
disturbed for some time, the great- 
est quantity of the clear fluid may 
be decanted, and the residue put 
on a fdter will then deposit the co- 
loured lake, which, after being re- 
peatedly washed with clear soft 
water, must be covered witli a cloth, 
anil suft'ered to remain for a few 
days tili it is half dry, after which 
it may be taken from the filter, 
made up in small lumjis, and care- 
fully dried on a stove. In this 
manner 1 lb. of the best cochineal 
afl'ords rather more tiian 1 ^ oz. of 
carmine, and l^lb. of red lake. 


To the Editor. 

S lu, 1 have lately seen the fol- 
lowing process for copying writing 
practised by a friend of mine, which 
1 think deserves to be made more 
gejverally known ; you therefore 
will perhaps have the goodness to 
allow it a corner in your next Repo- 
sitorif. The process is as follows: — 
Put a little sugar into your writing- 
ink, so that the writing made with 
the ink will remain glutinous or 
adhesive to the fingers. When a 
copy is required, take some unsized 1 
paper, moisten it lightly with a 
sponge, and lay it upon the writing. 
Then take a flat iron, such as is 
used by laundresses, moderately 
heated, and press it gently over the 
iinsized paper, the counter - proof 
or copy will be produced imme- 
diately. The quantity of sugar 
roL II. No. X. 

required must vary according to the 
nature of the ink : but there is no 
difficultv in tiiuling by a lew trials 
the requisirc (pianiiiy ; for the ob- 
ject of the sugar is merely to [)re- 
vent the ink Iron) drying rapidly. 
I am, wiih respect, your constant 

Bermoiulsry, Sept. 12, ISUv 


Those who are famdiar with che- 
mistry are well aware of the singu- 
lar effect of light upon metallic 
solutions, and other bodies of na- 
ture. An ingenious philosopher, 
Mr. J. Wedgwood, availed himself 
of the property which a solution 
of silver in nitric acid possesses, 
when exposed to light and air, for 
copying ]iaintings on glass, mak- 
ing profiles, &c. The solutions of 
this metal, it is well known, when 
applied to paper, and theti exposed 
to light, become speedily blacken- 
ed. Therefore if we cover wliite 
paper with a dilute solution of ni- 
; trate of silver, and place it behind 
\ a painting on glass, which is cx- 
i posed to the direct rays of the sun, 

the rays which pass through will 
. blacken the paper: but the shades 

will be more or less deep in pro- 
i portion to the intensity of the light 

transmitted through the different 

parts of the glass. When the glass 
j is perfectly trans])arent, and con- 
i sequently allows a free passage to' 

the rays of light, the paper will 
j become quite black ; where the 
! glass is perfectly opaque, and where 
I consequently no rays can pass, the 
I paper remains while ; and there 
E E 



will be der^rees of the intensity of 
the siiadow of every variety of opa- 
city between these two extremes. 
Pictures thus produced, ahhougli 
they are not sensibly affected by 
the light ol" candles and lamps, are 
soon destroyed by the light of day, 
which causes all the paper to be- 
con»e black. The}^ must therefore 
be kept in darkness ; and they may 
readily be preserved by being plac- 
ed between the leaves of a book, 
or black paper. Besides the ap- 
plication of this property which 
the st;iar light exercises upon the 
solution of nitrate of silver for co- 
pying the ligius and shadows of 
paintings on glass, it may be ap- 
plied to other purposes. By means 

of itdelineations may be made of all 
such objects as are partly opaque 
and partly transparent. The fibres 
of leaves, and the wings of insects, 
may be pretty accurately repre- 
sented by this process, by causing 
the solar rays to pass through them, 
upon paper impregnated with a 
solution of silver; and Sir Hum- 
phrey Davy has found, that the 
images of minute objects produced 
by means of the solar microsrope, 
may be copied without difficulty 
on prepared paper: he recom- 
mends one part of dry nitrate of 
silver dissolved in ten parts of wa- 
ter; and this is sufficient to enable 
the paper to become blackened, 
without impairing its texture. 



The following particulars of 
Czerni George, who, as the chief 
of tlie Servians, some j-ears since 
attracted a considera!)le portion of 
the public attention by his obstinate 
resistance against the Turks, are 
extracted from the narrative of a 
Russian officer, who was the bearer 
of the consecrated oil presented 
by his sovereign for the use of the 
Servian churches, and visited Mol- 
davia, Wallachia, and Servia in 
1808. The result of his observa- 
tions was published at Moscow in 
18! 0. 

Czerni George was born in the 
vicinity of Belgrade. From his 
earliest years he cherished an irre- 
concileable enmity to the Turks, 
who then ruled his unfortunate 
country with an iron sceptre. 
"VVliile yet a 3-outh, he happened to 

meet a Turk who imperiously com- 
manded him to stand out of his 
way, at the same time threatening 
to shoot him if he failed to comply. 
Czerni George, however, prevent- 
ed tlie execution of this menace 
by extending the Turk lifeless upon 
theground. To avoid thedanger- 
ous consequences which this deed 
would have infallibly drawn upon 
him, he fled to Transylviania. He 
was then eighteen years old, en- 
tered into the Austrian service, and 
soon became a subaltern officer. 
Another tragic circumstance com- 
pelled him a second time to seek 
his safety in flight. His captain 
was about to punish him for some 
fault which he had committed, when 
he killed him also, and immediate- 
ly hastened back to his native coun- 
try. Here he adopted a new pro- 



fession, better adapted to his dis- 
position, and became the chief of 
a band of robbers. It should be 
observed, that in Servia, Albai)i;i, 
and all over Greece, bands of lual- 
conteiUs, resilient in tiie woods, 
wage incessant war with the Turks, 
and style themselves K>.t7rrxi, that 
is, thieves or robbers. 'I'hey attack 
the Turks only, and are considered 
by the Greek peasants as heroes and 
avengers, and received in triumph 
by them in the villages where there 
are nol'urkish inhabitants. From 
his haunts iti the thickest woods, 
Czcrni George often fell upon the 
lurks and cut otf great numbers 
of them. His fury spared neither 
sex nor age. Women, children, 
and the aged belonging to this 
detested nation, were alike sacri- 
ficed by him. The Turks, byway 
of retaliation, executed twenty-six 
of the principal Servians, and 
among the rest an archimandrite, 
and armed a considerable force for 
tiie purpose of attacking Czerni's 
hand : but the oppressed Servians j 
assembled from all quarters to sup- ij 
port their avenger. His aged fa- ! 
ther alone, who had hitlierto been || 
his constant companion, now for- Ij 
sook him, with severe reproaches ' 
for the cruelties whicii he had per- -I 
petrated, the blood of so many || 
innocent victims which he had shed, 
and the extreme danger into wiiich 
lie was about to })lunge his conntrv ; 
nay, even with threats that he would 
betray him and all his associates to 
tlie Turks. In vain did C'zerni i 
endeavour to dissuade him from his ji 
intentions ; he set off and took the jl 
direct road to Belgrade. Czerni ' 
tollowcd him, antl n)ade a last at- 
tempt to divert him from his pur- 
pose, but finding the old man in- 

flexible, he drew forth a pistol, 
and shot the author of his own life 
dead upon the spot. 

The contest with the exasperated 
Turks was long and obstinate. It 
was difficult for the leader of an 
undisciplined banditti to overcome 
a people who had learned the art 
of war from the Europeans. By 
degrees, however, the Servians also 
learned to conquer; and Czerni 
George, encouraged b3theadvan- 
taues which he had j^ained, forsook 
his inaccessible forests, laid siege 
to Belgrade, and by his persever- 
ing bravery compelled the Turkish 
garrison to surrender on the 1st of 
December, 1806. Thus did a man 
of low birth, and without educatioi,, 
exalt himself inio the deliverer of 
his country and the supreme h.ead 
of his people. 

During the siege of Belgrade a 
meeting of the chief nobility and 
clergy was held at Semen dria, and 
having appointed the Arciibisliop 
of Servia th.eir president, they took 
upon themselves the government of 
tl)e country. They not only eon- 
stituted themselves the ruling })ov\- 
er in regrird to the civil admini- 
stration, but designed also to com- 
bine with it the legislative authority 
and the command of the arin\ . 
No sooner was Czerni George in- 
formed of these proceedings, t!i;!n 
he hastened to Semendria, annulled 
the resolutions of the asseisddy, 
and announced in a proclnmntion, 
that "so long as Czerni George 
shall live, no person shall ]5resuuie 
to exalt himself above him, as lie 
alone is sullicient and wants no ad- 

Since this empliatic declaration 
he has governed the people and the 
senate of Belgrade with all the 

i: K i 



authority of an arbitrary sovereign. 
As an instance of liis despotism I 
shall mention the following fact, 
communicated to me by M. Ro- 
dophinikin, counsellor of state. 
On the death of a wealthy Servian 
who had left several young children, 
the senate very humanely deter- 
mined to possess themselves of his 
property, M. Ilodophinikin re- 
Uionstrated against this procedure. 
One of the senators, who had been 
at Vienna, asserted that he had 
th.ere witnessed a similar circum- 
stance, as a stranger had of his own 
accord assumed the management 
of the property of a person who had 
died, though he had left an infant 
son. M. Rodophinikin had very 
great trouble to make the senate 
comprehend, that this stranger was a 
legal guardian, to whom theadmini- 
stration of the property was entrust- 
ed only during the minority of the 
lieir, and till the latter was capable 
of taking it into his own hands. He 
painted the excessive injustice of 
such a confiscaiion in such lively 
colours, that he obtained of the 
assembly an unanimous decree in 
favour of the heirs. The senate 
suddenly received a letter from 
Czerni George, who was then at 
his country-house, above 50 miles 
from Belgrade, directing that all 
the mills belonging to the deceased 
should be annexed to his posses- 
sions. Vv hat more could the be- 
nevolent advocate of the orphans 
then do in the affair? It is almost 
superfluous to observe, tliat the 
Servian senate punctually obeved 
the commands of Czerni George, 
and then took possession themselves 
of the remainder of the property. 
The conduct of this chieftain 
to the Pacha of Belgrade, after 

the reduction of that fortress, will 
serve to illustrate the extraordinary- 
hatred that he bears to the Turks. 
By the capitulation the pacha had 
obtained the assurance, that he 
might depart freely with his whole 
retinue, and travel unmolested 
through Servia. An escort of 500 
Pandours was to accompany him 
to the frontiers, and to protect him 
from insult on the part of the peo- 
ple. Czerni George gave him the 
most solemn asseveration, that he 
had nothing to fear in his passage 
through Servia. The aged pacha 
quitted the city with 270 persons 
belonging to his household, and 
all of whom, excepting the pacha 
himself and six of his principal 
officers, were disarmed, Scarcelv 
were they two miles from Belgrade, 
when the Pandours suddenly drew 
their sabres, and began in cold 
blood to slaughter tliese devoted 
victims. The pacha and his six 
officers made an heroic resistance, 
cut their way through the assassins, 
and reached a cavern, where they 
were overpowered, but not till they 
had dis^patched at least twice the 
number of Servians. On the same 
day Czerni George issued orders 
for the execution of the forty Turks 
who had remained behind at Bel- 
grade. These unfortunate wretches 
sought refuge iti a hou'se, where 
they defended themselves with the 
resolution of despair, till the Ser- 
vians set it on fire, and they pe- 
rished in the flames. A Servian of- 
ficer asked Czerni George what was 
to be done with the women belong- 
ing to the murdered Turks. " Let 
them starve!" was his reply. For- 
tunately all the Servians are not 
possessed of such cruel dispositions; 
one of them pr.oposed to sell these 



wretched females to the Ausiriiiiis, 
and liis suggestion was adopted. 

It would require volumes to de- 
tail all the cruelties practised l>y 
Czerui George. 1 shall therefore 
conclude this siihject with the fol- 
lowing trait: — In lb07 he caused 
his brother to he hanged for some 
trifling faults which he had com- 

Czerni George is at present (1810) 
46 years old ; tall and well made. 
His face is long, hroader below 
than above, his eyes are small and 
sunk in his head; he has a sharp 
nose and brown complexion. He 
wears very small mustachios. His 
hair is tied behind into a tail which 
reaches all down his back, and he 
turns it up in front, which makes 
his forehead ajjpear uncommonly 
large. His dress is very simple, 
dirtering in no respect from that of 
the rustics, except in a pair of 
pistols and a dagger which he con- 
stantly carries with him. Hisclothes 
are neither elegant nor clean. His 
ardent and vehement spirit is dis- 
guised under a cold and unfeeling 
manner. He passes whole hours 
without uttering a word : but when- 
ever he drinks brandy, he always 
mutters a pra) er. He can neither 
read nor write. It is to his per- 

sonal bravery alone, favoured bv 
fortune, ihat he owes all the power 
and fame which he enjoys. 

He has two sons and four daugh- 
ters. One of the latter is married 
to a Servian of high distinction. 
His eldest son, Alexis, now fifteen 
years old, at the time of my visit 
resided with M. Rodophinikin, and 
was assiduously engaged in learn- 
ing the Russian language. His 
quickness of apprehension is not 
less worthy of admiration than his 
corporeal agility. His favourite 
amusement is to kill birds by throw- 
ing stones at them. It is not un- 
likely that he will soon imitate his 
father, and make war upon the 
Turks instead of the birds. 

Czerni indulges once a year in 
the chase, in which he is accom- 
panied by three or four hundred 
Pandours. The whole produce, 
consisting of wolves, foxes, wild 
goats, and deer, is publicly sold to 
the best bidder. 

His real name is George Petro- 
witsch. He is indebted for the 
surname of Czerui, or the lilach, 
not so much to his naturally dark 
complexion, as to the anger of Ids 
mother, who gave him that appel- 
lation when he made her a widow 
by the n.uider of his father. 



The youthful Celinda possessed she enjoyed. Thou<^h handsome, 
a handsome person, a good under- i her beauty was not ot that striking 
standing, and an excellent heart, |i kind which challenges admiration ; 
yet she was not happy. As is some- ; and though endowed with trood 
times the case, she set a greater h sense, her coldness of nianner, and 
ralue upon the blessings she did wantof natural vivacity, ofienniade 
not possess, than upon those which her listened to with inaiteniior. : 



hence she frequently saw women, 
who were really inferior ro herself, 
distinguished in society, while she 
was overlooked ; and this often 
mortified her. One evening, when 
she had returned in worse spirits 
than usual from an assembly where 
she had been totally eclipsed by the 
beautiful Bellaria, while she sat lost 
in reverie, site was surprised at 
hearing her own name pronounced 
in a soft voice, and looking up, she 
saw at her side a lovely female, the 
charms of whose countenance were 
heightened by a look of celestial 
benignity. " In me," cried she to 
the astonished Celinda, " you be- 
hold one of that race whom the 
children of men denominate sylphs: 
our office is to protect mortals from 
the machinations of the evil genii, 
and to each of us is assigned the 
charge of a human being. You, 
Celinda, have, from your birth, 
been my care: I see, with pain, 
languor and disappointment de- 
stroy the fair [)romise of your youth, 
and I come to restore you to that 
cheerfulness which suits the pre- 
sent delightful period of 3-our life. 
Beauty, wit, fortune, are before 
you ; chuse from among them that 
which will render you most hapj)y, 
and it shall be yours : but as mor- 
tal judgment must be fallible, you 
will have permission to resign what 
you have chosen, if at the end of 
one year you find yourself disap- 
pointed of the happiness you hoped 
it would bestow; and this favour 
will be granted to you three times, 
but the third trial must fix your 
choice. My power to indulge you 
will then be at an end." 

Which of our lovely young read- 
ers has not already decided, that 
liie choice of Celinda was beauiy ? 

The sylph breathing on her, pro- 
nounced some unintelligible words, 
and disappeared. Celinda, turn- 
ing to a mirror, saw -^ ith delight a 
visible improvement in features 
which were before lovely ; her eyes 
sparkled with increased lustre, lier 
cheek, naturally pale, now glowed 
with the brightest bloom, and the 
most captivating suules played 
round her pretty mouth : in short, 
the sylph had bestowed upon her 
that bewitching something, for 
which, as we cannot express it in 
our own language, we have bor- 
rowed the French term, je ne sais 

for a short time Celinda believ- 
ed that tlie sylph had bestowed 
upon her perfect happiness; wher- 
ever she went admiration followed 
her, and her young conipanions 
stood no chance of being noticed 
in her *)rcsence: but thouGfh Cc- 
linda was tor a short time delitrht- 
ed with the sensation caused by 
her beauty, her heart was too feel- 
ing to be long occupied by the 
pleasures of vanity. The joys of 
friendship were necessary to her 
existence, and amongst the crowd 
of her admirers she found no 
friends; her beauty had alienated 
the regard of her female acquaint- 
ance, and there was not one of her 
lovers who touched her heart. 
" How foolishly have I judged," 
said she to herself, "in snpjiosing 
that admiration could bestow hap- 
piness! it gives me no other sen- 
sation th^u ennui" Her ennui, how- 
ever, was not of long duration : one 
of her female friends, named iVIe- 
lissa,vexed at finding herself thrown 
into the shade by the charms of 
Celinda, opposed to her fascina- 
tions the weapons of wit and ridi- 



cule. Melissa was not [)ri tty, but 
she iiad an intiiiite sliaic ol vivacity 
anJ humour; her Ouiis-f/tots uevvr 
failed to excite a smile, and siie 
soon h^^'gaii to rol) Celinda of some 
of her aJiiiirers, A professed ri- 
valshij) now commenced l)etween 
tlie uit ;t:>d the beauty. Cehniia, 
who had tiiotioht adnnration not 

in her ideas, a new world seemed 
to open lo her, and for some time 
she might be said to rove througli 
enchanted regions. .She repealed 
exultingly to herself, that ^he had 
iit lengtli found true hapi^iness; 
but she was soon compelled to al- 
low, that even the pleasures of wit 
are not without alloy: the bril- 

worth her noiitu: vvhiie she was sure n iianey of her talents quickly made 

of exciting it, now made ever}' ef- 
fort to gain it: slio lavished lier 
smiles indiscriminately on all who 
approached her; she studied the 
most becoming atiitudes, and even 
called in the aid of unnecessary 
dress; but all was in vain; every 
body said, " How beautiful Celinda 
looks!" but, unfortunately, they 
added, " What a pity she has not 
the wit of Melissa !" and even those 
who were most enthusiastic in praise 
of her charms, deserted her as soon 

her the oracle of tlie circle in which 
she moved, and, in consequence, 
she was surrounded by scribblers 
of all denominations. Our poor 
Celinda now found herself in the 
siciiation of the man in the fable, 
who determined to please all, but 
tried in vain to please any body. 
Though liberal in praising the 
beauties, she was etinali}- free in 
pointing out the defects of such 
works as were offered to her in- 
spection ; and autliors in those da^'s 

as Melissa appeared. The latter, — remember, reader, we are speak- 

in fact, possessed many requisites 
to gain popularity which the form- 
er wanted : she covered the most 
profound dissimulation by an ap- 
pearance of frankness and sinceri- 

ingof old times — coidd not bear to 
be told of their defects. She was 
accused of fastidiousness, of want 
of judgment, and even of envy : 
this abuse afflicted her, but a cir- 

ty ; and, though she estimated her ji cnmstance occurred which render- 

talents at even more than their 
worth, nobody knew better how to 

ed her for a while insensible to it. 
She had hitherto parried all the 

assume the appearance of humility, attacks made upon her heart, but 
Celinda saw her votaries diminish p she was subdued at last by the si- 
daily; and her only consolation lent homage of the ^-oung and 
was, that the time rapidly approach- ] handsome Florimon, who approach- 
ed when she would be allowed to ed her with the timidity generally 
make a fresh choice. j attendant on sincere atlVction. As 

At last the happy day came, and i the ill treatnient she had met with 
Celinda, whose agitation of mind induced her, in a grea^ measure, to 

give up her time to literary jdea- 
snres and pursuits, she was not 
sorry to have a friend who could 
participate in tiiem ; and it was 
only as a friend that Florimon 
begged to l)e admitted to her so- 
ciety. Never belorc had Celinda 

had prevented her sleeping, watch 
ed impatiently for the moment in 
which the year was to expire, that ' 
she might utter aloud her wish to ' 
exchange the gift of beauty for wit. ! 
The moment she had expressed it, I 
she was sensible of a total change 



enjoyed such perfect happiness : 
the taste and understandins: of 
Florimon rendered him a delight- 
ful companion, and they wandered 
together through the fiovvery re- 
gions of poetry, till their friend- 
ship, hy degrees, assumed so ten- 
der a character, that Celinda could 
no longer hide from herself that 
esteem with her had softened into 
love. The discovery, however, did 
not displease her ; she accepted the 
oQ'ered heart of Florimon graci- 
ously, and the time was fixed for 
their nuf)tials, wiien the faithless 
Florimon, allured by the immense 
wealth of Sophronia, forgot bis 
vows to Celinda, and gave his hand 
to a woman whose only charm was 
her money. 

The world gave Celinda credit 
for tlie apparetit stoicism with 
^vhich she bore her disappoint- 
ment, but it sunk deep into her 
heart; and her only consolation 
was, the idea of the revenge which 
slie knew si;e had the power off 
taking on her perfidious lover. ; 
The year of trial was just expired, [ 
and our young readers will better I 
conceive than we can describe, the I 
feverish impatience with which she j 
waited for its close, that she might 
obtain riches even superior to those 
for which she had been sacrificed,, 
The happy moment at length ar- 
rived, and she was upon the point 
of uttering her wish, when her 
guardian sylph stood before her. 
*' Rasli Celinda," cried she, " have 
not two disappointments taught 
you the necessity of making a pru- 
dent choice of your third wish ? 
Have you forgotten tliat with it my 
power end ?" 

We shall not repeat the argu- 
ments used by trie s} Iph to induce 

Celinda to deliberate before she 
made a third choice. To l)e re- 
venged on the perfidious Florimon, 
who she was conscious still loved 
her, appeared to Celinda the only 
thing worth wishing for; and the 
sylph, finding it vain to argue 
against riches, quitted her with a 
sigh, and a promise that the en- 
suing day her wealth should be 

Intent more on mortifying Flori- 
mon than on her own gratification, 
Celinda now shone forth as the ar- 
bitress of fashion ; sh,e dazzled all 
her friends by her luxurious and 
expensive manner of living; but 
when the first violence of her re- 
sentment was over, she heartily re- 
pented of her choice. The pos- 
session of wealth afiorded her even 
less pleasure than she had derived 
from her two former wishes: natu- 
rally simple and temperate in her 
tastes and habits, tlie luxury with 
whjch she was surrounded soon be- 
came disgusting to her, and in a 
little time she had the mortification 
to perceive, that the principal gra- 
tification which her friends ap- 
peared to derive from the costly 
ente/tainments with which she re- 
galed them, was the opportunity 
they afforded to satirize her taste, 
and jibuse her ejitravagance. Ce- 
linda, in despair at receiving, as 
she thought, in every instance such 
unmerited ill treatment, resolved 
to fly from polished society, and to 
seek no other pleasures than tiiose 
of benevolence. 

Naturally ardent and enthusias- 
tic, she entered upon her new pur- 
suit with the hope of finding in it 
that happiness so eagerly, and hi- 
therto so vainly, souglit; and for 
some time she was not disappoint*- 



ed : from her bounty the poor and 
destitute were sure of meeting in- 
stant relief; and could she have 
known what it was to moderate her 
desires, she might now have enjoy- 
ed the p'lrest atid most permanent 
happiness of w!)ich liuman nature 
is susceptible : but she was shock- 
ed aid disappointed to find, that 
her bounty was often r(<]3aid with 
ingr-atitude: that her generosity, 
instead of bcinGf an encour;i2.enit;nt 
to honest industry, was too often 
used as the support of idleness; 
and that far from being satisfied 
wiiii moderate assistance, tiie ex- 
pectations of her dependants in- 
creased in proportion to her muni- 
ficence. Bitterly did she now ar- 
raign the tolly of her choice, but 
she did not as before, long for the 
expiration of the year: the last 
day of it, however, arrived, and 
her ceifcstial guardian once more 
stood before her. Celinda receiv- 
ed her with an abashed and morti- 
fied air; her eyes, filled with tears, 
were cast upon the ground. *' Well, 
Celinda," cried the benevolent 
sylph," have I augured rightly? or 
does the possession of riches afford 
you the happiness you expected to 
derive from them ?'* — "Alas '."re- 
plied Celinda, " you were right, 
riches have ulforded me no happi- 
ness ; it seems that l)y some strange 
fatality the possession of my wishes 
is to bring me only disappoint- 
ment." — " And have not these dis- 
appointments," replied the sylph, 
" opened your eyes to the folly of 

the wishes you have formed ? You 
endeavoured to secure Happiness, 
but you forgot that earth is notner 
place of residence, she has long 
since taken her flight from it; but 
she has left bciiind her a substi- 
tute, which all mortals have it in 
their power to possess : this substi* 
tute heighteiis the feelings of plea- 
sure, and alleviates tho^e of pain, 
teaches men to use rich'^s with mo- 
deration, and robs poverty of its 
sting. "^" Ah! why," cried Celin- 
da, " was not tiiis the object of my 
wish? but, alas ! it is ik)w ti)0 late." 
— *' No," rf>plied the sylph, with a 
smile full of benitiuity, " the bless- 
ing which I speak of is still vvitiiin 
your reacii — it is a rc.^sh tonci n'j,!ti- 
///,• a desire whicii, if ii springs sin- 
cerely from your heart, will not 
fail to keep you in the patlis of 
virtue, and to bestow upon you that 
invaluable gift content.'^ 

Need we add, that the benevo- 
lent advice of the sylph was not 
thrown away ; that Celinda wished 
to act rightly with even more fer- 
vency than she had desired the 
|)Ossession of beauty, wit, or riches; 
and that this time her wish afforded 
her the most perfect satisfaction. 
By keeping a strict guard over hev 
temper and her actions, she gra- 
dually eradicated those foibles 
which had been fatal to her repose; 
and during the remainder ol her 
life, though she neither oxj)ectei.l 
nor sought for perfect happines*., 
she found tranquiliity and cont«*nt. 


Fran^'OIS DuvaI-, an old and ' order which was pronounced fata^, 
faithiul servant of the Marquis de expressed an ardent desire lo a^e 
Tourville, being seized with a dis- I his master once more before he 

f'o/. ir. No. X. I F F 



expired; and the marquis, though 
at that time immersed in the gaie- 
ties of Versailles, did not hesitate 
to leave them, and to encounter a 
long and fatiguing journey at the 
most inclement season of tlie year, 
in order to sooth the dying mo- 
ments of his attached domestic. 

By the time lie reached his cha- 
teau the last moments of Francois 
were raf)idly advancing, but the 
jntf iligence of his master's arrival 
reilltimined the expiring lamp of 
Jife; and when the marquis pre- 
sented himself at his bed-side, he 
rejoiced to find him much better 
than he expectetl. 

*' My dear lord," said the dying 
man, "joy has for a few moments 
arrested the hand of death, but I 
feel that all is nearly over: how- 
ever, thank Heaven, I shall die in 
peace, since I have an opportunity 
of bequeathing you my treasure." 

" Compose yourself, my good 
Duval," said themarquisina sooth?- 
ing voice, for he thought the old 
man raved ; " cotnj:)ose yourself, 
you will be better able to converse 
by and by." 

" No, monsieur marquis," re- 
plied he, " I feel myself going very 
fast; let me then hasten to explain 
to you wiiat 1 call n)y treasure. For 
many generations back my fore- 
fathers have been the servants of 
yours, and their gratitude and fide- 
lity have been uniformly rewarded 
by kindness and protection ; of this 
attached though humble fatriily 
there will soon remain onl3'the lit- 
tle Francois, the child of my eldest 
hon : it is this boy, wimm I regaril 
us a treasure, thai I rejoice to be- 
qofcath to you, iny kind master. 
U'hough hardly ten years old, his 
idispositions give every promise 

that he will emulate the devotioM 
and fidelity which has hitherto dis- 
tinguished his race; already has 
his young heart formed the wish to 
be placed in similar circumstances 
with his great-great-grandfather, 
<who saved the life of the then mar- 
quis at the imminent hazard of his 
own, I have seen his little features 
glow with honest pride, while he 
exclaimed, ' Who knows, grand- 
father, but I may have such an op- 
portunity when I am big enough to 
attend our master to the wars.' I 
do not, monsieur, ask your protec- 
tion for the child, because he has an 
hereditary claim to it, but I wish 
to obtain your promise, that when 
he is old enough to be placed about 
your person, or that of my young 
master, you will give him the pre- 
ference to any other." 

The marquis readily pledged his 
word to comply w ith the request of 
the dying man. The child was 
then brought to the bed-side of his 
grandfather, and the morquis, 
moved as much by his artless and 
infantine sorrow, as b}- the situa- 
tion of liis faithful Francois, press- 
ed him to his breast, and called on 
the host of Heaven to register his 
solenin promise to supply to him 
the place of the relation Ise was so 
' soon to lose. 

j The dying man raised his eyes 
in pious thankfulness to that God 
in whose service his life had been 
spent; and in a few minutes after 
he breathed his last. 

Strictly observant of his word, 
the marquis removed the little or- 
phan with him to Paris, bestowed 
ujion him a good education, and, 
when he had attained his eighteenth 
year, took him as his valet, intend- 
ing, 4vhe»Jb«e was a few years older, 



to give him the stewardship of his 

Ill the eiglit years which had 
elapsed irom the death of old Du- 
val, the ii^arquis had cncouiiterod 
much affliction: death deprived 
him of an amiable and beloved 
wife, and a dirterence in political 
opinions totally estranged from liim 
his only surviving son. At length 
the storn), which liad so long hung 
over France, burst forth, the hor- 
rors of the Revolution commenced, 
and numbers of the nobility emi- 
grated ; but while there was a pos- j 
sibility that his presence could be 
serviceable to his sovereign, no 
entreaties could prevail on the mar- 
quis to follow their example; and 
even when all hope was extinct, 
such was his reluctance to quit the 
spot which contained the royal pri- 
soners, that he lingered till escape 
was nearly impossible. 

It was now that Francois, who 
bad just attained his twentieth 
year, had an opportunity of prov- 
ing himself a worthy descendant of 
the Duvals: his understanding and 
talents induced M. de Tourville, 
the son of his patron, to make him 
the most splendid oilers to join the 
republican faction ; but firm to the 
cause of loyalty and honour, he 
resisted the threats and entreaties 
of the young apostate. The mar- 
quis, whose life had been repeated- 
ly menaced, consented at last to 
emigrate; but he was obliged to 
depart so hastily, that he tool; with 
him little more than sufficient to 
defray the expenses of his journey, 
and enable him tor a few weeks to 
subsist with liie greatest frugality. 

The mental surterings of the 
marquis rendered him little regard- 
less of this circumstance. Fran- 

cois, however, did not lose sight of 
it for a moment; his first care was 
to procure for the niarquis the best 
accommodation their scanty means 
would allow, and his next to seek 
some employment by which he 
might be enabled to ward oHT the 
a{)proach of poverty. As he could 
not speak a word of English, this 
was no easy matter to procure, and 
day after day did the poor fellow 
perambulate the metropolis in vain ; 
but thou<ih liis whole sustenance 
perhaps had been only a morsel of 
bread, he returned at night with a 
face of hope and cheerfulness ; and 
the poor marquis, who had not any 
idea of the actual slate of their fi- 
nances, knew nothing of the cruel 
deprivations winch his faithful ser- 
vant sustained in order to procure 
for him the necessaries of life. 

At length, when poor Francois 
had parted with every thing that 
he could dispose of, he obtained 
employment from a manufacturer 
of spangles: one would suppose 
that this was very light work, but, 
on the contrary, it was of the mosL 
fatio-uincr nature, and the remune- 
ration which he was to receive tor 
twelve hours hartl labour would 
scarcely purchase l)read. Poverty, 
however, is a spectre whose terrific 
visage has, in general, little etlect 
upon the nerves of a Frenchman. 
Francois calculated, that what he 
earned would supply the tieccssi- 
ties of the marquis, and as to his 
own he knew they would l)e easily 
supplied, for he determined to per- 
severe in the rigid system of absti- 
nence which he had recently adopt- 
ed ; and he did persevere in it for 
many months, till he was literally 
worn to skin and bone: nor did the 
marquis once suspect the cause of 
F f i 



that alteration, which he so often 
lamented had taken place in the 
looks of his faithful Fraii^'ois, now 
his only friend. 

From the time when this unfor- 
tunate nobleman quitted France, 
he seemed to have lost all the ener- 
gy of character which once distin- 
guished him; he considered the 
conduct of his son as an indelible 
stain to his name: tliis idea haunt- 
ed him continually, and, in addition 
to his otlier misibrtunes, brought 
on a nervous di:>order, which he 
hoped would speedily terminate 
his existence. 

-One of the vexations, and that 
not the least, of poor Duval's si- 
tuation, was the ill treatment which 
his principles procured him from 
tlie person who employed him. 
This man was a Frenchman, who 
had settled here previous to the 
Revolution ; as he was a violent 
Jacobin, he let slip no opportunity 
of taunting poor Fran9ois, to whom 
he made a point of always relating 
the atrocities then daily conimitting 
by those whom he styled the friends 
of liberty. Duval, conscious that 
the very existence of his master 
depended on the situation he held 
under this brute, listened to him in 
silence ; but one day the savage 
being half intoxicated, made use of 
language that provoked a reply 
from the hitherto silent Francois, 
and, in consequence, he was dis- 
charged on the spot. 

I shall not attempt to paint the 
state of mjnd in, vvhich tjie poor 
fellow returned to the marquis, to 
whom he did not dare to reveal 
what had passed. The iiext morn- 
ing he set outvvith a faint hope 
tnat, as be could now speak a little 
l^i>gU.sK lie n[ii§l}t ^^rjiaps obtain 

some employment: he was, how- 
ever, unsuccessful, and he was re- 
turning, in a state of mind nearly 
bordering on frenzy, when a boun- 
ty of twenty guineas, in large let- 
ters, caught his eye. He eagerly 
read the handbill, and round it was 
an offer to young men to enlist for 
tiie West Indies. Francois paused ; 
the idea of leaving the marquis was 
dreadful. " Shall I then," thought 
he, " stay till I see Inm jjerish for 
want of that subsistence I can no 
longer procure him?" This thought 
was decisive; he made application 
immediately, received the bountj-, 
and, feeling himself unable to take 
a personal le&ve of the marquis, he 
inclosed it in a letter, in which he 
explained his reasons for taking it. 
The stroke of death would have 
been more welcome than this intel- 
ligence to the unfortunate man : 
roused from the apathy which he 
had so long indulged in, he gave 
way to the most violent despair; 
the excess of his emotion brought 
on a ilangerous fever, and in this 
state we must leave him to follow 
the fortunes of the adventurous 

The troops had not long reached 
their destination when the poor 
fellow was attacked by the ypljow 
fever, and, during his delirium, he 
raved incessantly of his dear mas- 
ter. Chance, or rather we should 
say Providence, brought a French 
surgeon, who had formerly known 
the marquis, to the assistance of 
Duval : he saved the life of thp 
poor fellow, and was so struck with 
the heroism which had led him to 
endanger it, that he represented 
his case to Mr. Jackson, one of the 
richest and most benevolent men 
in the island. This gentleman vLk- 



sited Francois, and was so much 
pleased with him, that he deter- 
mined to procure his discharge, 
and send him hack to England hy 
the first opportunity. 

We shall not attempt to descrihe 
tlie transports ot the grateful Fran- 
<jois. Mr. Jackson took him into 
his house till an opportunity offer- 
ed for his return to England, and 
so much was he pleased with his 
behaviour, that every day increased 
liis reluctanco to part with him : he 
would not, however, suffer feelings 
which he considered as selfish, to 
interfere with the plan he had 
formed for the future happiness of 
the young Frenchman, and he took 
every means to expedite his de- 
parture. The day before he sailed, 
Mr. Jackson presented him with a 
letter of recommendation to one of 
the principal merchants in Lon- 
don, and a purse well filled. Fran- 
cois' eyes overflowed, nor were 
thoseof the benevolent Mr. Jackson 
dry, while, in disclaiming thanks, 
he said, as he pressed the hand of 
Francois, " You, at least, ought 
not to feel surprise at finding one 
fellow-creature capable of assisting 

Francois arrived in safety in 
London, and, with a heart throb- 
bing with alternate hope and fear, 
he repaired to the lodirings where 
he had left tiie marquis; hut his 
heart sunk when he found, that, 
jifter a severe illness, his dear mas- 
ter, as he always called him, was 
gone no one knew whither. 

Francois presented his letter of 
recommendation, which was inmie- 
diately attended to: the merchant 
took him into his office at a good 
salary, and could Francois have 
^ived wholly for himself, he might 

now have been happy ; but the un- 
certainty which he laboured under 
respecting the marquis poisoned 
all his enjoyments. Months, how- 
ever, stole on, and all his endea- 
vours to obtain tidings of him were 

One day, as he was passing 
through Oxford-street, a litlle girl 
presented a small basket filled with 
artificial flowers to a lady who walk- 
ed near him, begging of her, in 
hroken English, to buy some; the 
lady passed on without regarding 
her, and Francois, accosting her in 
French, observed, that she was a 
young dealer, and inquired whether 
she had no friends to put her in the 
wa}' to do something better. The 
little girl, who was about ten years 
of age, delighted to find some one 
who could understand her, told 
him that her father was dead, and 
her poor mother very badly off in- 
deed, and so ill she could not go 
out ; "*' and poor monsieur," conti- 
nued tire child, " is ill too; and 
when I saw mamma cry, and heard 
her say she hoped to be better to- 
morrow, and able to get us some 
food, I thought my heart would 
break, till I recollected the flowers, 
and I stole out with them, thinkiuor 
that if 1 could sell some, mamma 
might bay a soup with the money." 

There was something so natural 
and affecting in the child's manner 
of telling her simple tale, that Du- 
val had no doubt of its truth. " You 
are a good girl," said he, '* and I 
will go with you to see your niam- 

The little girl took him to her 
mother's habitation, which was in 
a court in Oxford-street; she ran 
up stairs before him, anil throwiuT 
open the door of her mother's 



apartment, presented to the asto- 
nished Francois the emaciated form 
of the marquis. 

We shall not attempt to paint 
the delight of Francois at recover- 
ing, thus unexpectedly, the belov- 
ed master whom he had given up 
as lost for ever. When their first 
emotions had subsided, and Fran- 
cois had detailed his adventures^ 
the marquis informed him, that 
during the illness into which his 
departure had thrown him, Madame 
Bercy, the mother of the little girl 'l 
who solic ited his charity, had taken 
the next room to his, and, struck 
with compassion for his desolate 
situation, had carefully nursed him 
till he recovered: hut the expenses 
of his illness had reduced his fi- 
nances so much, that Madame 
Bercy, who was herself very poor, 
determined to take a cheaper lodg- 
ing, which might serve for them 
both; and when the remainder of 

his money was exhausted, she had 
sliared with him the scanty profits 
of her business. 

Need we say that Francois re- 
moved liis master, the good Ma- 
dame Bercy, and her little Jean- 
nelte, to his own home, where they 
partook together of a repast, per- 
haps the sweetest any of them had 
ever tasted. Th.e worthy Mr. Jack- 
son shortly afterwards returned to 
England ; through his friendship 
Duval obtained a still better situa- 
tion, and Madame Bercy was en- 
abled to establish herself respect- 
ably as an artificial flower-maker. 
Frantj'ois had the pride and delight 
to bestow upon the marquis's old 
age every itidulgence which could 
render it a happ}' one; and often 
did the marquis acknowledge, with 
gratitude to Heaven, the value of 
the legacy bequeathed him by his 
old servant. 

Plate 21.— THE SAVOY. 

It must be obvious to every read- 
er, that the subject of the annexed 
engraving has been chosen for our 
present number, not forthebeauty 
or picturesque effect of the build- 
ings represented in it, but on ac- 
count of the alterations which this 
part of the metropolis is about to 
undergo, and which, at no very 
distant period, will render a deli- 
neation of its present appearance 
an object of curiosity. It is well 
known that the few remaining ves- 
tiges of ancient grandeur, together 
with the modern heterogeneous 
erections, will shortly be swept from 
this spot, to make room for the 
splendid improvements embraced 

by the plan of the magnificent 
bridge now nearly completed. 

The preci net of the Savoy derives 
its name from Peter Duke of Savoy, 
uncle to Eleanor, queen of Henry 
III. to whom that monarch granted 
the site of it, to hold to him and 
his heirs, upon the tenure of their 
d€livering yearly at the Exchequer 
three barbed arrows for all services. 
Here, about 1245, that prince built 
a large house, which he afterwards 
gave to the friars of Moutjoy, of 
whom it was purchased by Queen 
Eleanor for her son Edmund Earl 
of Lancaster. By his son Henry 
it was rebuilt, about 1328, in a 
very magnificent manner, at the 



expense of 5-2,000 marks. In 1358 
this edifice was assigned for the 
residence of John King of France, 
after he had been taken prisoner 
at the battle of Poitiers. Here too 
he died in 1304. He was a prince 
of the strictest honour; for, after 
liis release in the preceding year, 
he returned to apologize for the 
escape of one of his sons whom he 
had left as a hostage for the per- 
formance of certain treaties. 

In 1381, when the Savoy belong- 
ed to John of Gaunt, it was entirely 
destroyed by the insurgent rabble 
under the direction of Wat Tyler, 
who set fire to it in several places. 
The rebels issued a proclamation, 
tiiat no person shotdd convert any 
part of the rich eti'ec ts to his own 
use, upon pain of death, and ac- 
tually threw into the tire one of 
their companions who had reserved 
a piece of rich plate. Having af- 
terwards found some barrels, which, 
as they imagined, were filled with 
gold and silver, they threw them 
also into the flames. The contents, 
however, proved to be gunpowder, 
which blew tip the great hall and 
destroyed several houses. As an 
appanage of the dukedom of Lan- 
caster, the Savoy became the pro- 
perty of Henry VII. who began to 
rebuild it with thedesijjn of forming 
it into a hospital for one hundred 
distressed people. He says in his 
will, that he intended by this foun- 
dation " to doo and execute vi out 
of the vii works of pitie and mer- 
ry, by meanes of keping, susteyn- 
ing, and maynteyning of commun 
liospitallis ; wherein if thei be duly 
kept, t!ie said nede pouer people 
be lodged, visetcd in their sick- 
nesses, refreshed with mete and 
Uriuke, and if nede be v,ith clothe, 

and also buried, yf thci fourtune 
to die withitj the same; for lack of 
theim, infinite nombre of pouer 
nede people miserably daillie die, 
no man putting hande of helpe or 
remedie." This design was con- 
tinued and completed by his son. 
The walls of this building, which 
was in the form of a cross, are still 
entire. Weaver informs us, that 
over the great gate was the follow- 
ing inscription : — 

" Hospitiiim Iioc inopi turba Savoia vocatum 
"Septimus Hciiricus fundavit ub inio solo" 

The hospital was founded for a 
master and four brethren in priest's 
orders, who were to officiate in turn 
and stand alternately at the gate of 
the Savoy ; and if they saw any 
person who was an object of cha- 
rity, they were obliged to take him 
in and supply him with food. If 
he proved to be a traveller, he was 
entertained for one night, and fur- 
nished with a letter of recommen- 
dation and as much money as would 
defray his expenses to the next 
hospital. This institution was sup- 
pressed in the 7th year of Edward 
VI. when its revenues exceeded 
500/. per annum, and the furniture 
was given to the hospitals of Bride- 
well, St. Thomas's, and others. It 
was restored and very liberally en- 
dowed by Queeti Mary, w hose maids 
of honour, with exemplary piety, 
furnislied it witii all necessaries; 
but was again suppre^«ed hy Queen 
Elizabeth. : 

Few places in London, says Mal- 
colm, have underiLjone a more com- 
plete alteration and ruin than the 
Savoy hospital. According to i\m 
plates published by the Society of 
i' Antiquaries in 1750, it was a mo>t 
re*l>ectable and excellent buiidir»g". 



erected on the south side, literally 
in the Thames. This front con- 
tained several projections, and two 
rows ofangular,mullioned windows. 
Northward of this was the Friary, 
a court formed by the walls of the 
body of the hospital. This was 
more ornamented than the south 
front, and had large pointed win- 
dows and embattled parapets lo- 
zenged with Hints. At the west 
end of the hospital is the ])resent 
Guard-house, used as a receptacle 
for deserters, and quarters for thirty 
men and non-commissioned offi- 
cers. This is secured by a strong 
buttress, and has a gatewa}' embel- 
lished with Henry the Seventh's 
arms, and the badges of the rose 
and portcullis, above which are 
two windows projecting into a semi- 
hexagon. The descent from the 
Strand is by two deep flights of 
stone steps. 

Part of the old palace, which 
was used as barracks for the Guards, 
was destroyed by fire in March 1776. 
Other parts of it, still standing, 
have been lonjj transformed into 
private dwellings and warehouses. 
The ancient chapel belonging to 
the hospital was dedicated, with the 
latter, to St. John Baptist; but 
when the old church of St. Mary le 
Strand was destroyed by the Duke 
of Somerset, ihe inhabitants of that 
parish repaired to this chapel, 
which thence received the name of 
St. Mary le Savoy. It is entirely 
of stone, and has the appearance 
of great antiquity. The roof is re- 
markably fine, flat, and covered 
with small elegant compartments 
cut in wood, and each is surround- 
ed with a neat garland and shields 
containing emblems of the Passion. 
In the chancel are some handsome 

monuments, among which that in 
memory of the wife of Sir Robert 
Douglas, who died in 1612, merits 
notice. The lady, dressed in a 
vast distended hood, is but a se- 
condary figure, and is placed kneel- 
ing behind her husband, who ap- 
pears in an easy attitude, reclined 
and resting on his right arm, the 
other hand being on his sword. 
He is represented in armour, with 
a robe over it; on his head a fillet, 
with a bead round the edge; and 
upon his arms the motto. Toujour 
sans taches. Another fine monu- 
ment of a recumbent female, repre- 
senting Arabella Countess dowa- 
ger of Nottingham, also attracts 
notice. In a pretty Gothic niche, 
probably occupied in former times 
by the image of the patron saint, 
is now the figure of a kneeling 
female, holding a skull in her 
hands. It commemorates Jocosa, 
daughter to Sir Alan Apsley, lieu- 
tenant of the Tower; first wife to 
Lyster Blunt, Esq. and afterwards 
of William Ramsay, Earl of Dal- 
housie, who died in 1663. Within 
these walls likewise repose the re- 
mains of Anne Kiilegrew, who died, 
in 1685, and whose extraordinary 
talents were the admiration of the 
wits and scholars of her time. 

This chapel was completely re- 
paired in 1721, at the expense of 
George I. who also surrounded the 
burial-ground with a strong brick 
wall; and it was again repaired and 
beautified a few years since. The 
precinct is extra-parochial, and 
the right of presentation to the 
chapel is vested in the commis- 
sioners of the Treasury. 

At the eastern extremity of th^ 
Savoy is a commodious ciiapel for 
German Calvinists; and near the 

THE fashionaull: imatcii-maklr. 


square at the otlier tnd, a ciiapel 
for Lutherans of the same nation. 
Tlie latter was built unchr the Ui 
rection of Sir VV'illiain CiiaiuhtM^, 

and is considered one of the most 
elegant modern structures of the 
l.iud in the metropolis. 


.'/ TA'E. 

(C'/i'clndedfiom p. 148.) 
You are not to imagine, gentle jj pleasure completely epicurean ; for 
reader, that Sir Theudoro, in com- she wisely imagined with the j)hi- 

menciiig this a/fair, had sutiVrcd 
iiimself to be beguiled by so vul- 
gar a ciiaracter as a silly drcss- 

losopiier so unjustly abused, timt 
that could not be designated plea- 
sure vvhicli isfollowv^d by pain. " I 

making apjjreniice: no, MissGun- i do notwish you, my dear Adelaide," 
ning was, in reality, as i^no- she would exclaim, " to behave 
rant of the mysteries of the varia- rudely to Sir 'I'lieodore, or refuse 

ble goJtless as Sir Theodore, her 
nianmia, by the practice of her ex- 
traor linur}' talents in teaching the 
** robe a v\ider How," had rc'ndcrcd 
it totally unnecessary for her 
daughter's adoption of so vulgar a 
pursuit even from her youngest 
days; and she only waited to retire 
from the temple of Fashion, till a 
lady might be found wiliing to h;y 
down a sufticient quantity of cash 
for so large a concf.rn; and for 

ids presents, provided tl',ey are 
handsome ones. As to thinjs not 
uorth receiving, you may n.NScri a 
feelinsj of delicacy in refusins: 
them ; it will save you from a c'narge 
of being- mercenary: but any va- 
luable trinket — these are not times 
Lo refuse such — accept, unless, in- 
deed, he would exact too much 
in return. Some concessions, of 
course, must be made, but have a 
care they are not taitp:ih!t ones ; and 

sometime did Mrs. Gun. dug tluc- .j I see no reason wl y you may not 
tuale between the claims of avarice, ■! marry quality a!iy more the Gay- 
and the enjoyment of mixing in a | tans, the Series, or the Bruntons, 

circle in which she conceived she 
had now a right to move. Long, 
very long, had Mrs, Gunning re- 
sided in a house where no plebeian 

who, you know, my dear, were ac- 
tresses also." , It must be confess- 
ed, that Mrs. Gunning's morals 
were of the Peachum 

feet were allowed to enter, and her ; school ; and it would have been 

door bad long been impervious to 
any customer except her whose own 
carriage conveyed liQr, and whose 

difficult to persuade her, that a Far- 
ren owed her present digniiied 
s. ation in life to her virtue alone. 

brilliantAeZ-ounnighttell the passer- ' At the same liiue her theory be- 
by, that here lived no common per- i| came tc daughter of much more 
sonage. Yet Mrs, Gunning was a ! practical benefit, fur Adelaide bid 
thrifty woman, and the cautions j at length gained so firu-. a hold on 
shegaveiier daughter on her trt/r^e I the piui of Sir Throdore vvh^re 
into life were not to be despised. ■ hearts are generally deposited, that 
She was a lover of pleasure, but of 1 at length he cared how little lie 



stinetl from the firc-side where he 
was plaijirig at domestic felicity. 
Many years of intercourse with 
people of tlie hrst fashion had en- 
al)led Mrs. Gunning to ape much, 
and happily the worse part, of their 
manners. Thus, at cards, she 
checked with all the appearance of 
honour; and asked a favour with 
such a grace, as to make you be- 
lieve, however largely your pocket 
might sulTer, that you were the 
obliged person. She alTected such 
a carelessness of pecuniary all'airs, 
such a noble contempt of any thing 
approaching to debtor and credi- 
tor, as seemed truly heroic: in pub- 
lic, she bore tlie crash of porcelain 
with the greatest nonchalance; but 
soiled satins, or accidents to ex- 
pensive bijoux, were made good 
by the hands of those who destroy- 
ed them; and where she had no 
claim for reparation, she made it 
up ill the sale of cheese-parings 
and candle-ends. Opportunities 
for the lovers to be alone our mo- 
dern Peachum did not neglect. 
Mamma must be occasionally ab- 
sent ; and Sir Theodore, after talk- 
ing of love all the morning at Lady 
Linderiuere's, would return home, 
in the hope that the evening might 
allow of some little practical illus- 
tration in the society of Adelaide 
Gunning. Sb,e, however, had too 
great a regard for the rule of discre- 
tion, to allowthe professor to dolit- 
tle more than lecture on his art; and 
Sir Theodore, fully persuaded that 
he l)ad becouje acquainted with a 
mirror of virtue, became entangled 
in something like love ere he knew 
it. At the same tinie, too, that he 
was about to appoint the day when 
lie was to lead Dorindal-indermere 
10 tlie altar, he was still hoping to 

gain the person of Adelaide Gun- 
ning, either as a wife or mistress. 
Happily for Sir Theodore, the 
siateliness and love of etiquette 
evinced by Lady Lindermere gave 
him so much time for considera- 
tion, she became so dictatorial in 
the imagined certainty of getting 
q^' one of her daughters, that one 
day, when he took occasion to ob- 
ject to some of her arrangements, a 
ao;-c?y war commenced, and Dorin- 
da, who had lately cherished a 
growing passion for Colonel Del- 
mahoy, assisted her mamma in some 
little vituperative colloquy. Sir 
Theodore cut the connection alto- 
gether; he retired almost in a pas- 
sion ; and — led Miss Gunning to 
the altar. The loss of Sir Theodore 
gave the plump Dorinda some few 
pangs, for Delmahoy had scarcely 
nibbled at the bait; he was ashy 
bird in the matrimonial way;; he 
had no title, and his fortune was 
by no means equal to that of Sir 
l^heodore. However, she consoled 
herself in the idea that the colonel 
was a younger man ; and, in the 
gossip of report with regard to the 
neiv- married ])air, sought some 
consolation in slander and invec- 
tive. 'Tis true. Lady Lindermere 
exerted her faculties also to con- 
sole her daughter. " And as, my 
dear Dorinda," she exclaimed, " we 
are not getting younger, take the 
colonel, and I will give my consent 
to your union" With no little ma- 
noeuvring Colonel Delmahoy was 
at length caught, but " Dorinda's 
fortune was, in the event of mar- 
riage, to be settled on herself;" 
and we have said, or meant to say, 
that Colonel Delmahoy's was very 
infer^ior to Sir Theodore's. The 
fact was, that he was dreadfully out 



at elbows: he cut down trees until 
there were no more lo cut; he had 
mortgaged and mortgaged till he 
could mortgage no longer. For- 
tune had, of late, jilted him; ha- 
zard ran away with all his ready; 
Bk'ichcr came in half a neck before 
Charles Surface; he retired from 
the course completely c/crt;/ec/ otif ; 
and, to end all, his Indian expec- 
taries failed him: in fact, he was 
to have been married in June, but 
a cursed run of ill-luck at lirookes's 
obliged him to put it off till Sep- 
tember. In September he received 
accounts from his steward, that an 
inundation had destroyed all the i 
cotton and colYee on his planta- 
tion ; again, he had advice to leave 
Knrrland, and save the wreck of his 
fortune. He inunediately left Kng- | 
land, vowing eternal constancy to \ 
his dear Dorinda, who really loved 
him, and returned to her about two 
years afterwards ; but again was 
obliged to leave her, to view his 
estate in Ireland. They would 
certainly be married the following 
spring, but he was once more oblig- 
ed to return to the West Indies; 
and, after keeping her three years 
in suspense and occasional agony, 
each post bringing worse and yet 
worse news to the sulYerinii Do- 
rinda, a letter came to inform Lady 
Lindtrmere, that her expected 
son-in-law had put a pistol to his 
head and blown out his brains, 
leaviufj her the task of comfortinsf 

o O I 

her daughter for her loss, and al- 
viost lo regret her n)atch-making 

This event called forth all the 
phi/osnp/n/ oi' L?n\y Lindermere: in 
a few n)onths she began to be seri- 
ously angry with her daughter, 
ivho, as she said, made no effort to 

regain her serenity. She dragged 
her again from market to market, 
from London to Brighton, from 
Brighton to \Veyu)ouih, from A\'ey- 
mouth to Hastings, from thence 
again to London, and again froni 
London to Cheltenham, from Chel- 
tenham to Malvern, from Malvern 
to Bath, and so on ; while poor Do- 
rinda, like the statuoof Grief, join- 
ed in the dance like an embellish- 
ed automaton, and surrounded by 
a galaxy of fashion and splendour, 
shed continual tears of disappoint- 
ed love, and became the victim of 
a premature disgust. Still was she 
annoyed by her motlicr and the 
crowd collected around her; a sis- 
ter also, who had now gained aa 
ascendancy of charms over her, 
was throwing out her lures,or railu v 
mamma was doing so for her, un- 
convinced of the fatality of lier 
piishin'j; system. Many came and 
nibbled, but quickly saw the barb, 
now less concealed, and retired. 
At length a sai/or of fortune became 
domesticated in the house, and Lady 
Lindermere flattered herself, that 
at ieiigt/i her youngest daughter 
was ahont lo be married. Upon q, 
late inquiry, however, into his cir- 
cumstances, she found he had 
scarcely withal to supiiort liimself. 
He was persuaded once more to 
enter into active service; he ditl 
so, and dieil in the defence of his 
country; and Misses Dorinda and 
Juliana, at the age of three-score 
and three, have yet courage to take 
up the trade of their long-dereased 
mother; and, unconvinced by time, 
and unwarned by their looking- 
glasses, are still indefatigable in 
repairing the drooping lilies and 
roses of their complexions; see 
every year fresh recruits, as theY 
g"g i 


imagine, inlist under their banners, 
which time convinces them are re- 
negacioes; and in the neglect tliey 
experience from the other sex, are 
haii" conrincedj that they have to 

tiiank their mother for tlieir celi- 
bacy, caused by an over-anxiety, 
which is sure to defeat any jjurpose 
it too eagerly seeks to achieve. 


They leave iheir couutfis, and away lh> y I'un 
To theif gay coiiiitiy-house, and are uiu 'in^. — 


I HAVE a letter froai a smisible Ij in your adniirr.ble work, such let- 

woman, which 1 think will be very 
evident to my readers when they 
have perused it, on a subject which 
may be very useful to persons in 
her class of life. And I beg it to 
be understood, that I am as ready 
to receive the communications of 
my sex in middling or even in- 
ferior stations, as if my correspond- 
ents dated their letters from Ar- 
lington -street or Grosvenor square. 
The writer of the present epistle 
is the inhabitant of a great tho- 
roughfare east of Temple-bar, and 
seems to possess all the qualities 
which render a wife valuable to an 
industrious and thriving tradesman; 
aind that the industry of her hus- 
band may not be interrupted b}^ 
fanciful notions of pleasure, that 
their thrift may not suffer from neg- 
ligence, and the provision for her 
family may not be lessened or ren- 
dered precarious by needless ex- 
pense, she has addressed herself 
to me with such an account of her 
apprehensions, as may draw the 
attentions of, and give timely alarm 
to, the good man himself; nor shall 
it want any further assistance that 
I can afford to such a wise and vir- 
tuous design, 

- Sniadam, 

yv 'JThe ready kindness with which 
I have perceived that jou insert 

ters as are favoured with your ap- 
probation upon domesitic occur- 
rences, has encouraged me to trou- 
ble you with some circumstances 
in my situation, which, as the ac- 
count will meet the unsuspecting 
eye of my husband, who, as he is 
i)y no nieans dehcient in under- 
standing and what the world calls 
cleverness, lie may probably ap- 
j)ly, and I hope to heaven he will, 
what I shall call the moral of the 
narrative to his own conduct, and 
perceive the necessity of making 
that reform in it, which, 1 believe, 
he feels in his heart, though he 
does not communicate the secret 
to me, and which his experience 
must convince him^ an increasing 
family requires. 

To proceed, madam, in my story : 
you must know that this good hus- 
band of mine, for a very good one 
he is, in every point of regard, 
tenderness, and fidelity, is a shop- 
keeper in one of the most busy 
streets in London ; and a mpre ho- 
nest, pains-taking man is not to be 
found in the trade which he follows, 
or in the neighbourhood where he 
lives : but his notions are rather 
too elevated for his situatiorj ; and 
though, in a due course of years, 
he might look to th.e enjoyment of 
his present indulgencies, he has 
not attained that degree of prospe- 



ritv which can justify the mocio ot 
lite that his vanity has led him to 

It so happens ihut the principal 
part of his acquaintance are trades- 
men wliosc acqmiiions in hnsincss 
have ena!)!cd thetn to Iiave tiicir 
country-houses, or vilhis, which i^ 
now the fashionahlo lerni, at a con- 
venient distance from lo\\n, where 
they may retire to en'iov liiemsclves 
in tiie fresh air from Saturday nii^lit 
to Monday or Tuesday morning. 
This circumstance awakened a spi- 
rit of rivalry in the hosom of my 
hushand, wlio determined to make 
as genteel a figure as the best of 
them; and accor iinsjiy, in the he- 
ginning of the last summer, took 
a very venteel, comfortable little 
place, I must allow, at t\,c distance 
of about four miles from the Royal 

It vva:; in vain that I remonstrated 
on the inconveniencies which it 
would inevitably produce, the pro- 
bable neglect of business it might 
occasion, and the additioiial ex- 
pense it would ceriainly produce. 
But I was told that our neiLihbour 
Spang/e, the laceinan, who is not 
in belter circumstances than our 
selves, iiad his house at Etlrnonton. 
He also quoted the Snectatur upon 
me, a work he sometimes reads to 
me of an evening while I am at 
work, where it is observed, that to 
carry the appearances of an easy 
fortune was one of the w ays to make 
a good one. Nay, he declared, 
though I do not remember it, that 
when I gave him the bill for my 
last winter pelisse, which was cer- 
tainly verv handsome, I accouT^a- 
Tiied it with the remark, that his wife 
ought to make as handsome an ap- 
pearance as the wives of his neigh- 

bours; and he paid the money with 
the greatest cheerfulness. I com- 
bated these arguments with some 
success; i>ut he at length emplo3'- 
ed one which was irresistible: he 
eomplainc.l that his health was con- 
siderably I iipaired by his living 
constantly in London; that he was 
the best judge of what he sufVered 
in that particular, and insisted that 
an occasional change of air could 
alone recover him. This silenced 
me at once, and we took possession 
of a house, garden, and small field, 
at the rent of sixty pounds a year. 
Its situation was considered as un- 
commonly pleasant from its hein<>- 
close to the road, so we could see 
all the variety of company and car- 
riages wliich passed along, and be 
every half-hour conveyed to Lon- 
don by one or other of the scores 
of stage-coaches which OiTcrcdsuch 
an accommodation. 

As our house has a very reputa- 
ble appearance, my husbaml was 
determined to furnish it in a cor- 
responding manner; and I am al- 
most ashamed to say, that five hun- 
dred pounds were empl^ved in com- 
pif ting it wiih fashionable uphol- 
stery. This money could not be 
spared from the trade without some 
inconvenience. Matters, however, 
being thus arranged, we entered 
upon our weekly visits to fresh air 
and rural repose. Of tl-.e former 

j we had rnongh, hut, unless when 
relieved by siiowers, it brought such 

1 clouds of dust Irom the adjoining 
road as almost to smother us, and 
made it fr<quenilv luHressary, on 
a sultry summer-day, to keep the 
windows shut, and thereby convert 
our sitting-rooms into absolute 
ovens. We had a very pretty gar- 
den, and it was expected that we 



should be regaled uiih the tune- 
ful music ot singing birds when 
ne rose in the morning, or taking 
our tea among the flowering shrubs 
on our grass-plot of an evening; 
but here also was disappointment, 
for tlie farmer wiiose yurd was on 
the otlier side of our quick-set 
hedge, is a great dealer in hogs, 
and throughout tlie day our ears 
were assailed with the gruntings 
of his numerous piggery ; nor were 
the lioneysuckles and jessamines 
which twined about our viranda 
capable of overcoming the unsa- 
voury odours, not to say the stench, 
of such a neighbour. 

But this is not all of which I have 
cause to complain. The more se- 
rious grievance yet remains forme 
to describe. After all, we looked 
for quiet within doors, and an un- 
interrupted Sunday : but in thisrea- 
sonable expectation I have been 
more disappointed than in all the 
rest; for no sooner bad we settled 
ourselves in our country habitation, 
than our acquaintance, vvitli all the 
easy freedom of that character, 
formed parties to take their Sun- 
day's mutton at our villu : so that in- 
stead of retiring to tranquillity and 
repose, we appeared to have opened 
a new scetie of bustle and confu- 
sion, and to keep a country-bouse 
for no other purpose but to bring 
on a round of drudgery and ex- 
pense. Those wl.o know any thing 
of housekeeping will be able to 
form a judgment of the economy 
of providing for such visitors; and 
you, Mrs. Tattler, will be con- 
vinced of my uncomfortable situ- 
ation, when 1 was obliged to affect 
the appearance of satisfaction, and 
lo use the language of hearty wel- 
come, to the very people whom I 
wished in a horse-pond, or should 

have been glad to liave scolded out 
of the house. 

My good man began to feel the 
inconvenience of these visitors, and 
we contrived to lessen them, b}' 
walking out of a Sunday before the 
usual time of their arrival, and in- 
structing a good servant of ours, 
whom we let into the secret, to say 
we were gone out for the day, and 
thereby to throw some uncertain- 
ty on the probability of finding a 
dinner. We had also unfortunate- 
ly got a character for the excellence 
of our syllabubs warm fronj the cow; 
and that proved a temptation to 
some of our female acquaintance 
to come of a Sunday afternoon, 
and partake of such a regale : how- 
ever, we sold our cow, which ridded 
us at once of that kind of company 
and the expense of the syllabubs. 

Such are the pleasures of a Lon- 
don tradesman at a country-house, 
and my poor, dear, excellent hus- 
band, being disappointed in all his 
I expectations, and the place having 
lost the charm of novelty, is heart-* 
ily sick of our seat of peace and 
retirement; but then he is both 
ashamed and afraid to throw it off 
his hands, being fearful that his 
friends will circulate the laugh 
against him, and equally appre- 
hensive lliat his enemies will em- 
ploy such a circumstance to pre-t 
judice h\m in his business. 

I have told him over and over 
again, that it is better for him to 
be thought a fool than to prove 
himself one; and that it would be 
much more to his interest, that the 
lease of his house should be sold 
by himself, than by a certain set 
of ready persons called assignees. 
I have brought to his recollection 
some of his own acquaintance and 
neighboiirs whose pride has proved 



fatal to them, and ihoui;li he ac- 
knowledges tlie justice of my ob- 
servations, he is iiicorrigihlo as to 
his determination ; and though I 
do nut think, thank God, that it 
will prove his ruin, yet I cannot 
hut look at these additional ami un- 
necessary expenses as so niucli 
taken from the provision he ought 
to he laying l)y (or his iamily. 

^Ve have three children, and 
this confounded country-house, in 
which we did not set our feet but 
twice during the w hole of last win- 
ter, runs away with far more than 
is necessary to niainiain and edu- 
cate half a dozen of them. Per- 
mit mc, madam, to present you 
witli a cursory estimate. 

Kent £Q0 

Taxes 12 

Additional servant's wages, 

board, &.c 50 

Interest for money expend- 
ed in furniture . . . 2o 
Accidents and repairs . 10 
Coach-hire backwards and 

forwards 10 

Extra entertainments . . 50 


This, not to say a word of addi- 
tional housekeeping for servants, 
shopmen, &.c. in town, while we 
are eujoijing ourselves in the coun- 
try, and the unavoidable neglect of 
business, with the op))ortunitics 
which servants have of takin;; dis- 
honest advantages during the ab- 
sence of their master, &c. &c. &c. 
is a considerable sum, and, in the 
course of years, with due manage- 
ment and attention, would alone 
accumulate into the means of pla- 
cing out our children in the world. 
I would ask any tradesman whether 
such a loss can possihly be repaid, 
if no other evil ensues, by the va- 
nity of occupying a country-house 
for a couple of days in a week 
during the summer season. It has 
indeed always appeared to nie, 
that prudence is not only, in the 
ordinary ways of the world, a most 
useful disposition, but in every 
situation of life a most respectable 
virtue. I am, madam, with great 
regard, your most obedient ser- 

S. Thrifty. 


Shakhpf.arl's Dramatic Soscs, 
con)>hli)ig of all the Song^^ JJucti,, 
Trios, and Chorusses^ in Charac- 
ter, as introduced by liini in his 
variuns Dramas: the i\hisic partli/ 

^^few and partly selected, uith ncu: 
Symphonies and Accompaniments 
for the Piano- Forte, from the 

^, Works of Purcell, Fielding, Drs. 

Boi/ce, Na/es, yjrne, Cooke, 

Me.'^srs. J. Smith, J. S. Smith, T. 

Linleif, Jan. and R. J. S. Stevens; 

^,io zchick arc prejixed a genernL 


Introducliim of the Snlject, and 
explanatory Remarks on each 
Flay, by VV. Linley, Esq. Vol. 
II. Pr. 11. Is. 

In our Review of tlie first vo- 
lunie of this publication* we have 
sufliciently explained its plan and 
leading features. The present vo- 
lume completes the work, its con- 
tents being as follows . — 

f.. First Series of the /^7)05U(j|^^);«rpU) 

xiy.p. 'J30. 


^ytYfeICAL REVlF.W. 


Song. Under the greenzcood tree. 
— ^Dr. Arne. 

Chorus. JV/iudoth nmhitioti shun'? 
— W. Lin ley. 

Sor.g. Blozc, hlou\ thou zc'niler 
mud. — Dr. Arne and W. Linley. 

Glee. Wliat shall lie have that 
hilled the deer'? — J. S. Smith. 

Duet. It teas a lover and Ms 
lass. — W. Linley. 

Song. Wedding, is great Juno's 
crown. — W. Linley. ,' 


SoncT. Was this fair face. — W. 

Liniey. . , it, 

•^ , iio,> JucHtf oioo/. 


Song. When daffodils begin to 

D ^i -J.ia-jiM 

r. Boyce. ; , 

•• ,-, -r , .^looi'iiy tuTj 

bonE. Lazen as driven 

snozi). — W. Linlev. ; . 

•■■■■' ^ "? J ^OCi flip • • 

Song. Jf'ill xjou buy my tape?— 
Dr. Boyce. 

Trio. Get you hence, for _ I must 
go. — Dr. Boyce. 


Song. Do nothing but eat.—W. 
Linley. -a" ''"" 


Song. Orpheus zcith his Jute.— 
W. Linley. 

Song and chorus. Come, thou 
monarch of the tine. — W. Linley. 

KING LEAR. ny'^SifJ 

Song. Fools had ne'er ie^'^mt^. 
— W. Linley. "'^^'^rHjij JaaljoMi ^fi^ 


Song. Hozv should I. — Old me- 
lody, ^vs^Hlt^ 

Song. Good morrow '^tis. — t>ld 

Song. Thet/ bore him barefaced. 
V — W. Linley. 

Song. Jndzcillhenotcomeogain? 
—Old melody. -^ ■■^- 


- r ; r CYMBELINH. <r>? 

Glee.' Hark, the lark at Hta^. 
teri'sgate sings — Dr. Cookci ^(i.tlio 

Dirge. Fear no more the heat of 
thesun. — Dr. Nares and W. Linley. 


Round. yJnd let me the canakin 
clink. — W. Linlej'. 

Song. The poor soul sat sighing. 
— W. Linley. 

MACBETH. --■- 

The whole of the music, as it is 
now jicrformed on tlie stage, new- 
ly arranged by Mr. Samuel Wesley. 

By the foregoing catalogue, it 
will be seen that Mr. Linley's pen 
has, as in the first volume, contri- 
buted most liberally to the great 
object he had in view; but to do 
full justice to the value of hisila- 
bour, would not only exceed our 
room, but lead to a critical analysis, 
incompatible with the plan of the 
musical article of this Miscellany. 
We are even compelled to glide 
superficially over the most promi- 
nent and interesting of his compo- 
isitions. -"nf 

.-Among these, we notice the ap'<- 
propriate additions, or rather com- 
pktions, of Dr. Arne's beautiful 
songs, " Under the greenwood 
tree," and " Blov/, blow, ihou 
winter," in As tjou Like it. The 
chorus of foresters has the three- 
fold merit of being a highly clever 
and scientific glee, of suiting the 
worJ.s admirably, and of imitating 
the style of Dr. Arne's preceding 
air so successfully, that, without 
being' told of it, we should have 
taken the song and chorus as the 
work of one author. In two or 
three instances, however, the har- 
mony' was susceptible of improve- 
ment: in the 12th bar, p. 6, for in- 



Stance, tlic accompaniment moves 
in harsh fifths ; in the 9th bar, too, 
of the same l)age, the F in the bass 
is very objectionable. The burthen 
to Dr. Arne's second song above- 
mentioned is as pretty and impres- 
sive as the poetry; the third line, 
particularly, calls for unreserved 

Mr. L.'s music to the ballad " It 
was a lover and his lass," next 
denjands our attention. The inno- 
cent ease and sprightliness of the 
melody, together with the playfully 
flowing accompaniment, cannot 
fail of proving equally attractive to 
the untutored ear and the connois- 
seur. The fifth B F, in the first bar 
of p. 19, ought to have been avoid- 
ed. This objectionable kind of 
liarmonic progression occurs more 
than once in the work. 

Another very favourable speci- 
men of Mr. L.'s comic muse occurs 
in yJll's xcell that Ends kcIL The 
song, " Was this fair face the 
cause," besides its elegant subject, 
is full of quaint naivete, especially 
the passage " among nine bad," 
&c. p. 23. In the llth bpr, p. 2-2, 
we could have wished the accom- 
paniment to move less discordantly. 

In King lleiinj IF. (2d part), the 
drunken song of Silence is equally 
diverting throughout, and the be- 
ginning, above all, neat and fanci- 
ful. In the 6ih bar, the E in the 
bass had been better G sl:arp. In 
barmonically depicting the hic- 
cups, Mr. L. has been very suc- 
cessful, more indeed than suits our 
taste, or accords with the precepts 
of Ta KaXov, whose empire extends 
to music no less than to the sister 
arts. But a step or two further, 
and we shall have to nod assent to 

FoL II. No. X. 

the antipodean accompaniment of 
the bassoon in Mr. Matthews's 
'* Nightingale Club." — Mojora ca- 
namu!i ! 

Let us proceed to the song *' Or- 
pheus with his lute." Here we 
fully coincide with l\Ir. Linley in 
opinion, that tlie words of the poet- 
ry are deserving of th.e highest ef- 
forts of a musical mini! \ but we 
must beg leave to differ totally 
from his assertion, that the music 
he has devised for them is not such 
as to do them the justice they de- 
serve. To say that this composi- 
tion is the best in the volume, 
would bebut comparative praise : it 
is truly beautiful and en)inently im- 
pressive. A vein of the most chaste 
and ennobled feeling pervades the 
whole; the heart-strings of the 
composer could only have vibrated 
in unison with those of the immor- 
tal bard to accomplish a produc- 
tion of this stamp. We refrain from 
entering into any detail, not to 
weaken the enthusiasm we feel, and 
wish our readers to feel, for this 
high effort of the art. The instru- 
mental symphony in this play is a 
scientific and pathetic movement. 
We much approve its introduc- 

Another equally happy effort ol* 
the serious and tender in music, is 
Desdemona's air in Othello; a com- 
position not tlie less valuable for 
tlje modest diftitlence with which it. 
is presented to us. The subject i& 
couched in sinijile and affecting 
strains, and the ideas elicited froui 
it finely harmoni3e v>ith the melan- 
choly tenor of the text. This is par- 
ticularly the case with the charm- 
iuii and oritrinal ntiiiore, the select 
accompaniment, tlie elegant tran- 
H H 



sition to tlie key of C major, p. 67, 
/. 1, and the like happy return to 
four sharps, as well as with the 
style Oi accompaniment in the suc- 
ceeding line. Altogether, this song, 
and the one before mentioned, ap- 
pear to us the most exquisite per- 
formances of Mr. L.'s muse in this 
volume; without, however, depre- 
ciating the merits of a different 
kind conspicuous in many of the 
other pieces composed by himself. 

With rejjard to the music in 
Macbeth, we have only room to 
notice Mr. Linley's ingenious, and 
to us ! ighly plausible, inquiry as 
to its origin. He combats the com- 
mon opinion of its being the work 
of Matthew Locke, and ofters strong 
reasons for ascribing the whole, if 
not in its present shape, yet sub- 
stantially, to John Eccles. Of its 
present form in this volume Mr. 
Samuel Wesley is the author, a 
name sufficiently valued to ensure 
the possession of as complete and 
satisfactory an arrangement, as a 
happy combination of science, ta- 
lent, and judgment can hold out. 
The Rural Welcome to Box- Hill, 

set to Music by Miss R. W. W, 

Pr. 4s. 

Our review of this publication 
was completed when we first ob- 
served the age of its fair authoress 
in very small type on the title-page. 
This circumstance, although in no 
way operating on the absolute va- 
lue of the performance, ought, we 
conceived, to be thrown into the 
scale of criticism, and induced us 
to cancel our previous labour. The 
anonymous authoress has here ven- 
tured to compose, out and out, the 
whole of eight stanzas of a very 
interesting poem on the beauties 
of Box-Hill. The music forms a 

kind of cantata, in which recitavo, 
song, duet, and chorus, relieve each 
other. Such an attempt at the ages 
of fourteen must be confessed to 
be a bold undertaking; and we are 
willing, in our judgment of its me- 
rits, to make full allowance both on 
the score of its difficulty and the 
age of the writer. Thus viewed, 
the present composition presents 
indications of musical talent, which 
loudl}' call for the fostering guide 
of scientific instruction. Withou^ 
entering into the invidious task pf 
pointing out faults, we shall gene- 
rally observe, that the harmonies of 
this incipient composer appear tQ 
be dictated more by a good natural 
ear and taste, than by experience 
derived from study : hence we per- 
ceive, in various instances, errone- 
ous combinations, or awkward suc- 
cessions of chords. We would, 
therefore, wish to recommend tq 
Miss W. to apply herself sedulous- 
ly to the study of the principles of 
thorough-bass under the guidance 
of an able tutor, and not to offer, 
the fruits of her zeal for the art to 
the tribunal of public opinion, till 
she be conscious of having suffi- 
ciently mastered its theory. If she 
follow this our well-meant advice, 
the promising specimen before us 
affords the best liopes of the musir 
cal world beholding at last a female 
composer really deserving of that 
name. That sex has produced 
painters, sculptors, poets, and even 
mathematicians and philosophers^, 
but no composer of eminence. The 
reason perhaps is precisely, be- 
cause the syren accents of harmony 
lull its fair votaries into a belief, 
that an art, apparently so easj, 
may, like the piping of Gerrpaii 
bullfinches, be acc^uired by ao inbir 



tative good ear, without suhmittiiijr 
to the discipline oi' theoretical in- 

** Amanti Cost ant i,^'' from the Opera 
of " Le Nozzc di Figaro,'" hij 
Mozart, zc'ith Variations for the 
Piano- Forte, composed by Ferd. 
Hies. Op. 00. Pr. 3s. 
The beautiful and well-known 
air above-mentioned is so eminent- i 
ly adapted to variations, that it 
would have been a matter of won- I 
dcr, if, under INIr. R.'shamls, it had 
produced a performance less inter- 
esting than the excellent variations 
before us. The U' is disiiny;uish- 
ed by the tasteful flow of its ani- 
plitied melody, and the aptness of 
t!ie accompanime\it. Tlie triplet 
passages in the 2d maintain the 
theme in unlaboured purity. The 
3d variation, in C minor, of a higher 
and more scientific cast as it is, 
shevvs Mr. R.'s talent to the greatest 
advantage. Tlie perfect fifth, how- 
ever, in the minor chord of D F A 
(first note, p. 3), after the previous 
E b G, is so repugnant to our ear, 
that we are inclined to tliink it a 
typographical error, especially as 
the imitation of the passage in the 
second part is free from that ob- 
jection. In the 111) variation, the 
alternate evolutions of both hands, 
skilfully placed as they are, pro- 
duce the happiest eiiect. No. 5, 
with its short triplet accompani- 
ment, and the nice crossed-hand 
touches,exhibits peculiar elegance. 
No. consists of a set of very fine 
quick passages in C minor, between 
whic'i a portion of the theme in E b 
major appears interpolated with 
much originality of contrast: it is, 
altogether, a niost interesting va- 
riation. The 7th and last varia- 
tion, in the original key of C ma- 

jor, not only appears with pleasing 
relief after the niinorc, l)Ut is treat- 
ed with the most captivating sweet- 
ness; and its two last lines, p. 7, 
the offspring of chaste and original 
feeling, lead to a charming termi- 

Grand Sonata for the Piano-Forte, 
with 071 Accompaniment for the 
Violui or Flute, composed, and de- 
dicated to Lady Flint, by Fred. 
Kalkbrenner. Op. 2-2. Pr. 5s. 
In this sonata Mr. K. has given 
such free scope to the exercise of 
every qualification which consti- 
tutes a great composer, that we 
shall content ourselves with a mere 
cursory allusion to its general fea- 
tures. To enter into a detail of its 
numerous excellencies would en- 
gross too great a portion of the 
space to which we are limited. The 
movements are four in number: an 
allegro and minuet in E b, an adagio 
in AC, and a rondo in E b, all ot 
which require the abilities of an 
experienced performer. The al- 
legro, in point of passages and ge- 
neral construction, partakes of the 
char.'icter of a concerto ; and its 
profound liarmonic couibinations, 
originality of ideas, taste, and gran- 
deur of style, proclaim the pen of a 
master in the art. In the minuet 
Mr. K. has followed, without copy- 
ing, Haydn's best manner; whileiti 
the adagio, the style of Mozart 
seems to have served as a guide. 
"With such models before him, it is 
not surprising, that such, talents as 
Mr. K. possesses, should have pro- 
duced two movements which can- 
not fail to delight the heart of every 
true votary of the science. The 
rondo ingratiates itself at the out- 
j set by its fugued subject, which is 
particularly well developed in the 
H n 2' 



second part. The passaj^es, and 
other digressive matter, are some- 
x%'hat more ligl'.t in style than the 
general complexion of the otiier 
pieces; but the movement, never- 
theless, shews sufficiently the pen 
of its author, not to form an unfa- 
'vourable contrast with the more 
studied features of its companions. 
" Hocc gailij to Ilamht and HUly' 
'- a Duet, Tcit/i an Accompauiment 
for the Piano- Fur'e, the Words by 

Mrs. J . Colloid, composed, and 

dedicated to Miss Watson, by J. 

F. Danneley. Pr. 2s. 

The general complexion of this 
composition is creditable to Mr. 
D.'s talents; but he appears to us 
to have mistaken his poet, in giving 
to a text, every line of which 
breathes anacreontic mirth, love, 
&c. (well adapted to a motivo in the 
pastota/esiy\e), a melody through- 
out too serious and too slow, and 
which, where it ought to be most 
sprightly, is most stern and solemn. 
The accompaniment, too, partakes 
of tliis serious style; and, fraught 
as it is with laboured dissonances, 
in the manner of theaiicient school, 
heljjs further to eairatige the music 
Iroaj the import of the vrords. In 
songs of this description, modula- 
tion ought to be but sparingly ad- 
ministered ; but here the very sub- 
ject, which, by the way, is too often 
repeated, presents a series of mo- 
dulations from major to minor, and 
lice versa. In saying thus much, 
we are bound to allow, on the other 
hand, that in the treatment of this 
passage, as well as in several otlier 
parts of this air, Mr. D. has given 
ample evidence of his skill as a 
contrapuntist. His harmonies, in 
general, are correct and well-con- 
ducted. The new strain, however, 

p. 3, consisting of a set of di.^so- 
nant sequences, is surely out of 
its place to express the joining 
of villagers in dance and music; 
and the succession of these chords 
is not quite free from grammatical 
objection. We observe, with sa- 
tisfaction, the adoption of the Me- 
tronome in the signature of this 
duet. As this invention enables 
the composer to indicate with cer- 
tainty the quickness of his move- 
ments, we hope soon to see Mr. 
D.'s example followed by the rest 
of the musical writers in this coun- 


The Cot in the Vale, a faxourite 
Song, uith an Accompaniment for 
the Piano- Forte, composed by Sir 
John Stevenson. Pr. Is. 6d. 
In the melody of this little song^ 
which is unaffected and pleasing, 
the author has more adhered to 
the English ballad style of com- 
position than in the generality of 
his vocal works. In point of metre, 
the extension of that of the poet 
has betrayed the composer into 
some awkward accentuation, such 
as, " a daughter Jie has," p. 2, b. 6. 
The word " daughter," on its re- 
petition, drags under the many 
semiquavers; and " but" {p. 3) is 
too .short in pronunciation to ad- 
mit of four semiquavers. 
Lessons in all the Major and Minor 
Ket/s, forming the second Part of 
Practical Instructions for the 
Piano- Forte, by T. Howell. Pr. 
10s. 6d. 

The first part of this work has 
been noticed in a late number of 
the Repository (July), and we are 
happy to say, the good opinion 
which it gave us of the author's 
qualifications, both as a teacher 
and a didactic writer on music. 



has been considerably auj^mented 
by the sequel now before us. It 
consists of nearly sixty close pages, 
the contents of which may be class- 
ed as follows: — For each key two 
or three lessons are given, appa- 
rently of i\lr. H.'s own composi- 
tion, and these are respectivelj' 
preceded by the fingered scales 
belonging thereto, as also by some 
general directions for fingering- 
each particular key. In this man- 
ner the work ])roceeds to as far as 
six sharps, returns to C, and thence 
goes as far as six Hats (for the ma- 
jor keys). For the minor keys, 
the lessons successively extend to 
four sharps and seven flats. In 
consequence of this arrangement, 
the lessons are not of progressive 
dirticulty, because the intricate 
sharp keys precede the easier flat 
ones ; but this order of the pieces, 
introduced for system's sake, may, 
of course, be varied by the pupil. : 
The lessons, considered with re- j 
ference to their main object, ap- 
pear to us extremely j)ropcr and i 
judicious: we notice with appro- I 
bation the sparing manner in which i 
only the principal positions of the | 
fingers are indicated, as also the \ 
ample employnient of the left i 
hand. In point of composition the ' 
pieces are respectable throughout, 
and many, especially those in which i 
the sharps or flats increase, are I 
entitled to the higher encomium of ! 
classic elegance. It appears tons, ; 
that, in addition to the directions ; 
for the fingers prefixed to the se- i 
veral lessons, some hints relatinir 
to character and expression would 
not have been misplaced, particu- j 
larly as so little of that essential 
part of execution is indicated in { 
the- pieces themselves. We do not 

suppose there are twenty furfei 
and pianos in the whole book. 

T/ie Saxe-Cohurg March mul Waltz 
for the Piano, composed by S. F. 

Rindjault. Pr. 2s. 

In the two pieces above-men- 
tioned, there is nothing which can 
lay claim to novelty or tlisplay of 
science : the three common chords 
of D, A, and G, with an occasional 
seventh to get out of one into the 
other, form a harmonic round- 
about, in which the melody moves 
on. But as the latter kind of ve- 
hicle is a safe conveyance for all 
those whose incipient skill does 
not allows them to venture on more 
daring feats, so may we with ])ro- 
priety recommend IMr. R.'s labour 
to junior performers on the instru- 
ment. It is correct, pleasing, in- 
telligible, and free from the slight- 
est difficulty. 

Mozari^s Grand Overture to Ida' 
mcneo, adapted for the Piuno- 
Forte, Ziith Accompaniments for n 
Violin, Flute, and Fioloncello (ad 
libitum), by S, F. Eimbuult. Pr. 
3s. ; without accompaniments, 2s. 
The arrangement of this over- 
ture, like that of the other drama- 
tic overtures of Mozart wdiich Mr. 
Rimbault has adapted for the pia- 
no-forte, is the more creditable to 
his talents and judgment, as, by 
steering clear of executive intri- 
cacies (for which, in the present 
instance, anqjle temptation exist- 
ed), the piece has become accessi- 
ble to moderate proficients on the 
instrument ; a circumstance which 
not only afibrdsa sufficient excuse, 
but indeed compensates, for the 
probably intentional on^.ission of 
some niceties in the general liar- 
mony of the score. ■' 



An hit rod lie t ion, 'March', dnd Rondo^ 
for the Piano- Forte, composed, and 
dedicated zcith permission to Miss 
Caroline Danbenei/ qfStratton, by 
Caroline Kirby. Pr, 2s. 6d. 
The three pieces contained in 
this publication, although evident- ! 
ly not produced by a pen familiar 
with the science of harmony, or 
gifted by inventive originality, are, 
upon the whole, not uninteresting. 
The introduction is agreeable, the 
march regular in point of con- 
struction and shewy, and the rondo, 
the subject of which is set in imi- 
tation of wind-instruments, pro- 
ceeds with animation throufrh its 
several parts. There appears, how- 
ever, too great a degree of same- 
ness in the whole of these move- 
ments; the harmony lies chiefly 
between the tonic and the domi- 
nant; the left hand, instead of af- 
fording a mellow support to the 
melody, generally beats the time 
with octaves, or frequent leaps into 
upper fifths or sixths ; all which, 
together with the very liberal use 
of the pedals, produces rather a 
stunning gaudiness than select 

A fourth Air, with Variation?, for 
the Piano- Forte, composed, and 
inscribed to Mrs. Hozvard of York, 
by J. F. Burrowes. Pr. 2s. 
A waltz forms the theme of these 
variations, which are conceived in 
proper style, and, withoutbeingdif- 
cult, afford both an interesting as 
well as agreeable exercise for both 
hands. The quick passages of var. 
2 and 4 lie kindly to the fingers : 
the imitations in var. 3, between 
treble and bass, are; devised with 
neatness. In var. 5 we observe an 
energetic and well-conducted run- 
ning bass. The 6th var. on account 

or Its clever ffiinor moauTatioil5, 
and its general scientific cast, is 
entitled to our warmest commen- 
dation. The 7th and 8th, less ;e- 
cherchees, are nevertheless attrac- 
tive ; and the coda attached to the 
latter, serves to close the work with 
active bustle and brilliant effect. 
Three Waltzes for the Flute, com- 
posed by L. Drouet. Pr. 2s. 6d. 
Each of these waltzes consists 
of six or eioht distinct and sue- 
cessive parts in a variety of keys, 
more or less distant from the key 
of the subject. All these, how- 
ever, are so neatly strung together 
that they form but one connected 
whole. The melodies are pleas- 
ing, and conceived in an interest- 
ing style. Another merit of these 
waltzes is, that, although the pro- 
! duction of so CTeat a master on 
! the flute, thej?^ fall within the capa- 
cities of moderate proficients on 
that instrument. We should like 
to see this publication arranged 
for the piano-forte. In p. 3, /. 8, 
b. 7, a crotchet is wanting. 
The Ti/rolian Air, a German Waltz 
and a French Air, zoith easy Va- 
riations, for the Flute, composed, 
and dedicated to Thomas Newte, 
Esq. hy L. Drouet. Pr. 3s. 
To each of the three tunes above- 
mentioned, Mr. Drouet has ap- 
pended a few variations, the free- 
dom and delicacy of which pro- 
claim both his taste as a composer, 
and his skill and experience as a 
performer on the instrument. Al- 
though we observe no particular 
intricacies of execution, we yet 
apprehend that a numerous class 
of respectable players will ques- 
tion the epithet of " easy" on the 
title-page, which might with pore 
propriety, at least comparatively 



speaking, have beep niade use of 
witli regard to the tliree waltzes 
ahove noticed. As exercises for 
the zealous student on the flute, 

these yaviat. ions claim our warnjest 
recommendatipn, They are well 
calculated to form his taste and 


Coi/sisliitg of iNTEREsrryc Kx tracts from NEfF Popular 



(IVuni James's Travels in Germany, Sueden, &c.) 
(Concluded from p. 170.) 

Theri: were none of these people 
but had some peculiar anecdote to 
relate of their sufferings, and all 
hore yet in their looks some mark 
of the privations and anxieties they 
had undergone. 

Mr. C represents himself to 

have been seated in his chamber 
the evening of the arrival of the 
French; wliere he heard tiie bustle 
of the military undisturbed : at 
night, however, two dragoons en- 
tered suddenly, demanded with pis- 
tols in their hands, whether any 
Ilussian soldiers or Cossacks were 
concealed. He replied that there 
were not. — " If you deceive us," 
said they, "you die." They went 
up stairs to search, and presently- 
returned asking for brandy and a 
pair of boots; th.ese were given, 
and they went their way. Soon 
afterwards a thick smoke began to 
make itself perceptible from the 
upper part of the house, and in a 
short time the whole burst into a 

blaze: Mr. C was obligred to 

seek shelter elsewhere at a late 
hour, and wandered some time in 

quested a lodging; this was soon 
granted : the favour was not indeed 
confined to himself, for he found 
tb,e whole establisliment converted 
into a place of general refuge, 
containing upwards of a hundred 
wretched persons, littered down 
in the several rooms and out-houses. 
It was hiardiy to be expected they 
should enjoy the sleep of this ni^ht 
unmolested, and they were visited 
successively by four several parties 
of marauders, of whom it can only 
be said, that the first left nothing 
for their successors to deprive them 
of. Alarmed by the continual re- 
ports of assassination in the streets, 
he told us he never quitted the 
house, except once, during the 
six weeks of his abode, and then 
he had cause to repent of his te- 
merity, being insulted by some of 
the soldiers, rol)bed of his coat, 
and congratulating himself to have 
escaped with his life. Some time 
after a few French officers, as quar- 
ters began to grow scarce, came and 
billeted themselves in the house, 
where they were received as wel- 
come guests, since their presence 
house of a person in the Slabode j| aHorded hope of protection. This 
with whom he had some slight ac- i increase of company, however, 
qu^intance, he knocked, and re- added to their di^^cuUies in some 

vain, till at length discovering the 



sort, and filled them with fears lest i 
they should be unable to find sub- I 
sistence enough for so largea party, j 
Meat, which had been abundant ! 
during the first week, was not now [ 
to be bad : they doled out day by ; 
day to each, a small allowance of | 
flour from the household store, 
which they kneaded into paste and 
baked themselves over their fires. { 
This supply bcgiin at last to fail, 
without the possibility of its being | 
replenished from any quarter: for | 
the peasants who had ventured to i 
market being beaten and robbed of 
their provisions, carts, and jiorses, 
had ceased their visits. Feeling ; 
themselves deprived, therefore, of! 
every other resource, they were 
driven to forage, accompanied by I 

the French soldiers, in the gardens 

of the neighbourhood, diffiiinjj for ! 

potatoes and roots, or whatever they \ 
could find : yet even this was pre- ■ 
carious, and their work often inter- i 
rupted l)y the incursions of the 
Cossacks. In a half-starving con- i 
dition, without a single change of s 
clothes or linen, this gentleman 
passed the greater part of the time 
the French stayed at Moscow : but, 
pursued by more tlian ordinary 
malignity of fate, his sufterings were 
not l^rought to a conclusion at their 
departure. The excellent charac- 
ter which he bore, had led the 
French governor to solicit his ac- 
ceptance of a temporary appoint- 
ment in the provisional municipa- 
lity ; he was urged on the score of 
putting him in a way to assist his 
fellow-citizens, and, preferring the 
calls of duty to a consideration of 
the consequences to which it would 
expose him, unfortunately yielded 
to the request. On the return of 
the Russian police, no argument 

that he could urge was held a suf- 
ficient plea for such conduct; it 
was necessary, in compliance with 
the feelings of the times, that the 
utmost abhorrence should beshewu 
against every person who bore the 
sliglitest mark of connection with 
the enemy, and to have merited 
their confidence was the highest 
crime. For this he was condemned 
by the unanimous voice of his tri- 
bunal ; and the punishment award- 
ed was, that he should be obliged 
to labour half an hour (pro forma) 
on the public works, with a badge 
of infamy affixed to his arm ; after 
which exposure he was thrown into 
prison for three months, and ever- 
more forbidden to quit the city of 
Moscow on any pretence. 

Thisstory, nevertheless, presents 
but an imperfect epitome of scenes 
of distress, that varied with every 
distinction of age or sex. The fe- 
males were of course no less sub- 
jected to the miseries of so calami- 
tous a period : Madame , re- 
lated to us her tale of woe. Feel- 
ing, as was natural, great alarm on 
hearing of the arrival of the French, 
she had retired to an open space of 
ground near one of the churches, 
whither a number of the inhabitants 
had fled from similar motives. Th^ 
party waited here an hour without 
seeing any one, when a troop of 
cavalry came up and asked (it was 
the ordinary inquiry), whether any 
Russian soldiers were concealed 
amongst them. — "No," answered 
the women, covering up with their 
cloaks 9, poor wounded man who 
lay half dead upon the ground, 
The French said they were content^, 
and, with much appearance of po- 
liteness, demanded next, if they 
stood in need of any thing which it 



was in their power to procure : they 
rc'Cfivecl a seconil answer in the 
negative, and passed on. Presently 
one of them returned with a bottle 
ol" brandy in his hand, and kindly 
offered them to drink : after this, 
as night cauie on, the whole group 
dispersed to seek for shelter where 
occasion might serve. The lady, 
with her husband and daughter, re- 
tired to an empty house, and re- 
mained there tor two days, not dar- 
ing to stir out of doors; when, being 
almost famished, the husband was 
obliged to go iibroad with the hope 
of procuring provisions. In cross- 
ing the street he stopped, either 
iVoni curiosity or other trivial mo- 
tives, and {)ickt;d up a roc:ket-case 
which was lying on tlie ground, 
with ihcappeariince of having been 
used in the conflagration : seeing, 
however, that he was observed by 
two French soldiers, he put it away 
in his pocket somewhiit perhaps in 
a hurried manner; they at tiie in- 
stant came up, and demanded, in a 
threatening tone, to see wliat it was 
lie had concealed. On beinjj shewn, 
one of them accused him as an in- 
cendiary, and without farther par- 
ley, took a step back, levelled his 
musket, and shot him through the 
heart. His daughter beheld this 
scene from the window with such 
feelings as may be well imagined, 
and the wife ran up but to behold 
him weltering in his blood. At this 
juncture they were discovered by 
a French officer, who happened to 
pass that way ; he took pity on 
them, and removed them to the pa- 
lace of Count A. Kasumofski, then 
the residence of King Murat, where 
they remained till the evacuation. 
His majesty had been driven by the 
irreverent flames to this hotel, in 
/"(./. U. No. X. 

which, much to his credit be it said, 
he opened an asylum for the poor 
sufferers, and aflbrded theui every 
means of relief that was in his 
power. Circumstances, however, 
did not admit of the enjoyment of 
much comfort; a large assembly of 
both sexes was crowded into one 
apartment, where the companion- 
ship in misfortune tended rather to 
increase than relieve their pains. 
It is distressful to delicacy to relate, 
that in this very room a woman of 
good condition in life was actually 
delivered of a child, her female 
friends standing around, and en- 
deavouring with their handker- 
chiels and clothes to screen her as 
far as they were able from public 

Mr. B — was another resident of 
Moscow during this dreadful pe- 
riod; hut, n)ore favoured by acci- 
dent, he lived at an inn near the 
Twerskoi, in the society of several 
French officers, from whom he re- 
ceived much kindness and atten- 
tion. His account furnishes an 
idea of the want of discipline, or, 
as it is termed, demoralization, that 
prevailed in the ranks of the army. 
He had one morning, he says, ven- 
tured out in the street imj)rudentlv 
alone, when he was met by two 
Poles, who attempted, on some pre- 
tence or other, to decoy him into a 
private place; he refused to accom* 
pany them, and as they addeil me- 
naces to entreaties, he took lo flight ; 
the street, however, was empty, so 
they pursued him, and he was ou 
the point of being overtaken, but 
fortunately turning a corner, he 
stumbled on a French officer, to 
whom he lost no time in applying 
for protection. The officer cona- 
plied, inquired into his story, and 
1 I 


very severely reprimanded the 
Poles, them repeatedly with 
his sahre : they answered him, ne- 
Tertheless, impudently enough, as- 
serting^ that leave was given to 
plunder, and that they had aright 
to do so : he told theui that the per- 
mission had been revoked at the 
end of the first week, but as he had 
no actual accusation to bring for- 
ward, he dismissed iliem, and kindly 

promised Mr.B to accompany 

him to ills lodgings. On the way 
they met a French soldier carrying 
a bundle that bore a suspicious ap- 
pearance. He stopped him, and 
insisted on its being opened, when 

several watches, rings, &c. and 
other articles of plunder, were ex- 
posed to view. — "Scoundrel!" said 
he, in amazement, " is it not dis- 
graceful enough for a Russian to 
commit acts of thievery, but must 
a Frenchman also turn rogue, and 
bring disSionour on Ids nation r Are 
you not a soldier of the grand 
army r" — So saying, he gave him a 
blow on the cheek with his sword, 
which he tlien coolly wiped and re- 
turned into tiie scabbard ; and draw- 
ing an order for the man upon the 
hospital for his cure, resumed his 
conversation with our friend. 

fFrom Tclly's Narrative of a Residence at Tiipoli.) 

July 1, l;81. 

i'S the foUowinfj events related 
by the Greek lady whom I men- 
tioned in miy last, you will find one 
of the iew instances of a beautiful 
and delicate being having sur- 
mounted such sufferings as she ex- 
perienced in the savage hands of 

Turkish robbers. Signora S , 

who is still handsome, was born in 
Dalmatia ; her christian name was 
Juliana: her father was an officer 
of distinction in the Venetian ser- 
vice. Her family was disliked by 
the Turks, on account of the skill 
and courage her grandfather dis- 
played in endeavouring to defend 
the Morea from the Turkish arms 
wlien they last gained possession 
ol it. Her mother, herself, and two 
sisters were living on an extensive 
estate, beautifully situated on the 
borders of Macedonia. Rich vil- 
lages, though belonging to Turks 
and Tartars, surrounded them, and 
tliat part of the country was inter- 

spersed with aromatic heatlis, impe- 
netrable woods, and thick vine- 
yards; but they were remote from 
any capital, -Salonica, the ancient 
Thessalonica, being the nearest to 
them, and they were not far iVom 
! the village of Contessa. This lady 
tliinks, if her mother had caused 
alms to he sent to tlie holy nioun- 
tain of Athos, they might luxve 
averted all the troubles she expe- 
rienced. This mountain is iiiha- 
; bited by friars, of whom there are 
! no less than three thousand living 
in thirty monasteries : many of the 
I Greeks visi\ it, and purchase sepa- 
rate blessings from the different 
I convents at a very great expense. 
' As the inhabitants of the surround- 
1 ing villages were mostly 7^jrks and 
i Tartars, their society consisted onl^^ 
{ of afew familiesof Armenians, Dal- 
I matians, and Sclavonians, who, like 
themselves, had retired to that part 
of Macedonia, while the heads of 
tiieir families were fighting under 



iheVciictinn banners ajrainst tlie 
Turks in Venetian Dalmatia. Bu- 
ried in the woods of Turkey, they 
remained often a long while with- 
out intelligence from the more ci- 
vilized part of Europe, which this 
lady's mother seemed to regret in- 
linitely more than the other Gre- 
cian ladies. She had passed the 
chief part of her life at Venice, 
and from being better informed, 
felt greater fears. She seemed to 
ioresec the catastrophe that hap- 
])ened, and daily forbade her attend- 
ants to walk far from their dwel- 
ling with lier chililren, fearing, as 
she said, the incursionsof theTurks 
and Tartars, who, after every vic- 
tor\-, usually scour the country, en- 
riching themselves by plunder all 
the way on their return to Constan- 
tinople, or to their dl^^erent beys 
on ihe Black Sea ; yet, as they ab- 
stain from breaking into palaces 
atul principal houses in theirroute, 
there is a possibility of being safe 
bv keeping within doors. 

At length some vague ro[)orts of 
the success of the Venetian arms 
lulled her into an idea of security, 
and shefatall}- acceded to the en- 
treaties of her friends to spend the 
day at an Armenian's, whose resi- 
dencenearlv joined her owu estate's. 
She was accompanied by her two 
beautiful daughters, Juliana, then 
about thirteen, and her sister about 
eleven years old; and she-confided 
her voungest child, an infant of two 
years, to the care of its nurse, a 
young ('ircassian slave, who liad 
been with her some vears. 

She set out on this journej' witli 
nearly all the aitendants slie had, 
for greater security, though with- 
out the least aj^prehension, With- 
iw sight of her own domains, at the 

anfileof an immense forest of which 
they had a few paces to pass, as a 
tiger rushes on his prey, so sprang 
on them out of this wood a party 
of Turks. 

The affrighted mother dropped 
instantly atthe sight of tliem. Kach 
ruffian seized a surprised and help- 
less victim, and it was the work bnt 
of a few moments for this banflitti, 
in so unequal a combat, to cut to 
pieces the attendants that opposed 
them. Covering their wretched 
captives with large canvas bags 
which they tied over them, and 
fastening their prey on different 
horses, they took with them Juli- 
ana, her sister, and the Circassian, 
who, from affection, struggled to 
keep in l.'er arms the infant she 
had with her; and, uiifortunatelv, 
(as it afterwards proved) sucjL-ecd- 
cd, though the Turks repeatedly 
commanded her to leave it on the 
ground at their first setting off: 
but, as tlie mother lay senseless, 
and apparently dead, the Circas- 
sian could not tliink of abandon- 
ing the infant to itself. With in- 
credible swiftness they continued 
pushing their horses up the steep- 
est hills for several hours, till a 
most tremendous storm of tliun- 
dcr and lightning obliged them to 
stop. They spread bags on the 
ground by the side of a woodv 
mountain, and pitched some 
wretched tents, which ill sl.eltered 
them from the rain, in one of 
which they placed their miserable 
burthens, more dead than alive. 

After the storm subsided, they 
brought them dried salt meat, 
called by the moors kmlccrU which 
they had toasted, with black bread 
and water, and threatened thenr 
with death if they did not eat. The 
I I -2 



Circassian endeavoured to stifle the 
cries of the unhappy chikl in her 
bosom, frightened at the rage with 
which the Turks had complained 
of its screams ; nor did her fears 
suggest to her the horrors they 
had yet to witness, for at the sun- 
rise these savages committed the 
infant to the flames, to ease them- 
selves of its cries and the incon- 
veniency of its heing attended to, 
and then travelled with increased 
celerity across sandy deserts, 
through thick, woods, and over rug- 
ged and steep mountains, till with- 
in a short distance of Constanti- 
nople, where they sold the unhap- 
py Juliana and her sister to an 
Aleppo merchant, who, for their 
farther misfortune, rejected put- 
chasing the Circassian; and thus 
parting them from their faithful 
domestic and fellow-sufferer, car- 
ried them on towards Constanti- 
nople. Their disconsolate and 
wretched mother, soon after they 
were torn from her, was sought 
for and recovered by her friends. 
When able to rouse herself from 
the lethargy which this dreadful 
catastrophe had thrown her into, 
by her unremitted inquiries she 
learned the cruel news of her hus- 
band having been massacred with 
a party of the Turks, 
and that the banditti, or Turkish 
soldiers, who had carried off her 
daughters, had taken them to Con - 
stantinople. In a distracted state, 
she immediately collected all she 
could of her property and deter- 
mined to follow them. She ap- 
plied to an Armenian merchant at 
Constantinople, under whose pro- 
tection she meant to place herself 
while she remained at the Porte, 
and employed him to make every 

possible search for her lost chil- 
dren. When she had informed 
him of her wretched story, he told 
her that he was, at the same time, 
lamenting the fate of a Venetian 
youth of family, with whom he had 
spoken tliat morning, and despair- 
ed of getting him ransomed. He 
had been taken prisoner, and was 
become the property of a Turkish 
bashaw, who had heen recalled by 
the Porte, to be appointed to a 
new government, and who every 
day increased the sum he demand- 
ed for this unfortunate gentleman's 
liberty. As Juliana's grandfather 
had fought in several campaigns 
for the Venetians, and her father 
had now fallen in their service, 
the moment the wretched event of 
her's and her sister's capture was 
known at Venice, an order was 
sent from the states to ransom the 
cliildren as soon as they could be 
{ found. The order reached Con- 
stantinople a few days after their 
mother had arrived there. This 
public tribute paid to the memory 
of those so dear to her, was truly 
consoling, but no one knew where 
to find the unhappy captives. The 
Armenian merchant she was witli, 
though very young, was extremely 
opulent and universally beloved 
as a most amiable character. He 
felt sincerely for her distress, and 
his age and temper led him to be 
bighly.interested from the picture 
she gave him of the two beautiful 

He had nearly abandoned the 
hope of finding them, when the 
young Venetian noble, whose 
claims he was endeavouring to re- 
move, surprised him by a visit. He 
came accompanied by a Mamaluke 
of the bashaw's, to bring him a 



proposal from that pruice, for sell- 
ing a great number of black slaves 
before his departure for his new 
government, to wliich as lie was 
already named, and his retinue 
and equipage ordered to attend 
him in eight days, he could give 
but a short time for this commission. 
The merchant could oidy feci for 
the distress of his friend, whom he 
saw on the point of being hurried 
off to Persia before their last let- 
ters to his family had been an- 
swered, for increasing the ransom 
offered for him, which the bashaw 
had refused. He was shocked with 
the visible despair in his friend's 
countenance, and was encouraging 
him to hope that letters might yet 
reach Constantinople before his 
departure, when he was surprised 
to hear him declare, that the arrival 
of such letters could not relieve 
his present sufferings. He told 
the merchant, that some time since 
the bashaw had got into his pos- 
session two of the most beautiful 
Georgians he had ever beheld, 
whom he purchased of Turkish 
robbers near Adrianople. It was 
at first thought the officer who 
bought them would have fallen in- 
to disgrace, as from their sufferings 
they were in a most emaciated 
state. He had paid many purses 
of gold for them, and on their ar- 
rival it was feared they would not 
recover from the excessive hard- 
^hips they had endured in tlie first 
part of their journey ; but as they 
now became every hour more beau- 
tiful, aiid displayed the highest 
accomplishments, the bashaw bad 
destined one of them for himself, 
and he meant to send her sister to 
his brother, a prince of Evrivan. 
They were at present, he said, 

confided to Zeleuca, a confidential 
Greek woman of the basliaw's fa* 
mily in the palace, and to remain 
with her till the bashaw's arrival 
in Persia. Zeleuca was a Grecian 
slave, who had been a long time 
in the bashaw's family, and had 
great infiuence with him. The 
Venetian told the merchant, that 
previous to the bashaw's u\()wed 
partiality for the cUest, he liad re- 
solved to ])ay his ozcn ransom for 
their liberty, and purchase his 
freedom some other way, but as he 
was now certain the Turk would 
not part with them, freedom, he 
said, was become indifferent to 
him. The Armenian endeavoured 
to conceal his own strong emotions 
from the Venetian youtli, as he in- 
stantly conceived these were the 
two beautiful sufferers he was so 
earnestly in search of. He soothed 
the unhappy youth, entreating him 
to he patient and secret, and ;;bove 
all to profit no more of any oppor- 
tunity accident might furnish him 
with, of seeing or speaking to the 
Georgians, till he himself should 
meet with him again at the ba- 
shaw's. The youth informed him, 
that owing to public business, the 
bashaw would not take his family 
with him, and a Mamalnke was ap- 
pointed to superintend their jour- 
ney, and they were to set out four 
days after the prince. The young 
Venetian then parted with his 
friend the merchant, and rctlected 
with surprise on the uncommon 
agitation that he seemed tosnffer, 
and his earnestness in 
him to avoid seeing more of the 
Georgians; but he had witnessed 
so many instances of generous and 
kind actions in tlic merchant during 
his frequent interviews with the 



bashaw, tliat he had conceived the 
highest esteem tor him, and there- 
fore determined with confidence 
to put himself under his guidance. 
The Armenian having commu- 
nicated his suspicions to his afflict- 
ed guest, she was so transported, 
that she would instantly have gone 
to embrace her children, and claim 
tliem with pravers and tears, at the 
feet of their Turkish master, had 
not her friend prevented her from 
so rash a step. He reminded her, 
that with every reason to hope 
that the young slaves were her 
children, yet it was not fully as- 
certained, and it would be neces- 
sary to deliberate on the most cau- 
tious and possible means of re- 
deeming them should they prove 
so. He persuaded her to leave i 
their fate in his hands for a few] 
days, and trust to his endeavours | 
to work out their deliverance. He !i 

knew the bashaw, fond of popula- 
rity, feared to appear severe or 
lilijust; yet be was ferocious, vio- 
lent in his passions, and prone to 
secret revenge, and was one a- 
mongst the most powerful officers 
of his rank belonging to the Porte : 
hut as avarice was the leading fea- 
ture in his character, the merchant 
nourished a faint liope of placing 
the children in their mother's arms 
again. He desired her to give 
him a letter open for her daughter, 
which he would endeavour to con- 
vey to her himself, and by that 
means discover if the children were 
her's or not. The account he had 
received from the Venetian left 
him no room to doubt it; but to 
gain their confidence, and to make 
them a/uiie acquainted with a plan 
ior their escape, seemed almost too 
difficult to accom.plish. 

(To be concluded in our next.) 

^Mlit^srtVS^KJS (9 



A GOWN of lilac sarsnet, cut low 
round the bust, which is trimmed 
wiih pink ribi)on, disposed so as to 
form a wreath ; the shape of the 
back is marked by bands of pink, 
and a large bow, in the French 
style, ornamcnls the middle of it at 
bottom. The back is full; a plain 
light front forms the shape in a 
most becoming manner. Long (nil 
sleeve, composed of clear muslin, 
trimmed at the wrist with a sinjjle 
row of lace, and finislied by a pink 
bow. Fichu to correspond, very 
full trimmed round the throat with 
laee. The bottom of the skirt is 
edged with pink, and trimmed with 


a single flounce of blond lace, set 
on very full, and surmounted by a 
wreath of French roses. Coruette 
composed of fulie, finished by a 
quilling of blond round the face, 
and fastened by a pink bow under 
ihe chin; a bow to correspond or- 
naments it on the forehead, and a 
l)unch of flowers is placed very far 
back on the head. The style of this 
cornette, tiiough French, is so sim- 
])ly elegant and becoming, that we 
have not for some time seen any 
half-dress cap to equal it. Plain 
gold ornaments. White kid gloves, 
and white kid slippers with pink 


'3AJj,., ©RFSS 

GENEiaL ouskuvationj; on fashion and uhess. 


PLATE •::.•>.— BALL DIlESS. .. 
A gown, coiDposed of wlute 
gauze, of an exquisitely beautiful 
and glossy texture: it is worn over 
a maiden-blush slip. For the form 
of the dress, which, is in the highest 
degree novel and elegant, we refer 
our readers to our print. The 
trimming is a rich rolliy of inter- 
mingled gauze and satin at the 
bottom of the dress, above « hich is 
a wreath of fancy flowers, and this 
wreath is surmounted by white sa- 
tin draperies : the general eilect 
of this trimiiiing is uncommoidy 
tasteful and striking. I'he hair is 
much parted en the forehead, and 
dressetl very low at the sides; and 
the hind hair, brought a|Tverv high, 
forms a tuft, liead-dress, a wreath 
of French roses, placed so as appa- 
rently to support the hind hair. 
Necklace, bracelets, and ear-rings 
of pcail. ^V'llite kid slippers and 

^\'e have to thank the condescen- 
sion of a lad}-, one of our subscri- 
bers, for both the elegant dresses 
w Inch we have given this month, 


The favourite promenade dress 
is now coniposed of Pomona green | 
sarsnet; it is made a very decorous '' 
walking length, and trimmed with 
satin some shades lighter than the i 
dress: the trimming is about half 
a quarter in breadth; it is dispose<J 
iiv byas flutings, and finished at 
both edges with pipes. This trim- 
ming is in very bad taste, it is for- 
mal, not at all ncnel, and has no i 
other recommendation liian being 
fashionable. The body, which is 
the same length in the waist as last ; 
month, is plain in the middle, but | 

very full at each side of the back, 
and is ornamented with a pelerine 
cape of a novel and pretty form: 
it falls nearly as low as tiie waist, is 
open behind, and cut in points, 
which cross each other; itisbroun-ht 
very low round the bosom, but ki- 
stead of meeting, it iiies back; the 
ends are pointed, and nearlv a quar- 
ter long; it is made quite up to 
the throat, but without a collar. 
Plain lung sjci ve, finished by a tri- 
ple quilling of byas satin, and con- 
tined at the urist by a inind. Vv'e 
should have observed, that the pe- 
lerine is trimmed with a light nar- 
row fluting of satin. 

The materials for walking dress 
are various. Sarsnet and poplin 
are high in estimation, and cam- 
bric is still considered elegant: we 
observe the latter is in general 
trimmed with two or three flounces, 
lightly en-broidered in colours; 
we do not mean an intermixture, 
but various shades of the same co- 
lour : evening primrose, dark blue, 
and greet), are most in favour. A 
silk scarf or spencer, to correspond 
with the trimming, is an indispen- 
sable appendage to these dresses, 
as is also a white chip or straw 
bon,net, trimmed with puilings of 
white satin, tastefully intermixeti 
with cord to correspond with the 
trimming of the dress, and a bunch 
of flowers also to correspond. The 
effect of these dresses is very ele- 
gant, and they are well calculated 
for the dress promenade. 

For carriage dress, the Glom es- 
ter bonnet and spt nccr l;ave lost 
nothing of their atti.iciion since 
our last number. White satin pc- 
li^ses, trimmed with royal purple 
satin, are also fashionable; and 
mantles, so long exploded, begiu 



to be seen : they are worn, how- 
ever, very partially, and we appre- 
hend those belles who reckon on 
their revival will be disappointed. 
We have seen two, one composed 
of spotted silk, lined with white 
sarsnet, and trimmed with white 
satin ; the other a rich purple and 
■white shot sarsnet, trimmed with 
lace. One of these mantles was cut 
entirely byas ; it was short, and 
hung very gracefully round the 
figure: the cape, exactly of the 
shape of a half-handkerchief, was 
cut round in scollops, and a full 
puffing of satin went round the 
throat. We must observe, that col- 
lars are entirely exploded, and 
ruffs continue to be an indispensa- 
ble part of walking or carriage 

Muslin still continues to be the 
most fashionable article for morn- 
ing dress. The most tonish dresses 
are those made about a quarter of 
a yard shorter than the petticoat: 
they are gored, and the body and 
skirt is formed of one piece; the 
back is very full; they are open in 
front, and made up to the throat, 
but \Aithouta collar : the}' are trim- 
med round with the fashionable 
work which resembles point lace, 
and the petticoat has a double 
flounce to correspond. The sleeve, 
which is long and very loose, has a 
triple fall of work at the wrist. 
These dresses, fashionable and ex- 
pensive as they are, have, at a dis- 
tance, an uncommonly ludicrous 
effect; the trimming being pointed, 
and worked in holes, has the ap- 
pearance, especially when there 
are so many falls of it, of being ac- 
tually in rags. The elegant dis- 
habille which we noticed in our 
last number is still in favour, and, 

though not so fashionable as the 
one which we have just described, 
is more generally adopted by ele- 
gantes of taste. 

Plain and worked muslin is still 
worn in dinner dress, as are also 
sarsnets. Clear muslin bodies, 
made half-high, and exquisitely 
worked, are much in favour for din- 
ner parties ; they are worn either 
with a skirt, worked round the bot- 
tom to correspond, or a sarsnet 
one, trimmed with an intermixture 
of white patent net and ribbon, dis- 
posed in draperies, which has a 
very light and elegant effect. We 
have not for some time seen any 
thing so tasteful as these worked 
bodies and silkskirts ; 'tis true they 
do not offer any actual novelty, but 
at this time of the year our fair vo- 
taries of fashion do not rack either 
their own invention or their mar- 
cltaudes des niodch for n ovel ty . Belles 
of good taste profit by the licence 
which fashion at this season gives, 
to wear what they consider most 
elegant and becoming— these dress- 
es are both : they answer also a bet- 
ter purpose than that of adorning 
the wearer, by the liberal encou- 
ragement they afford to female in- 
dustry. Fine work is now in very 
considerable estiniation for all those 
parts of female attire for which it 
can be worn ; and we have seen 
some, particularly the bodies wliich 
we have just noticed, the effect of 
which is fully equal to lace. Fichus^ 
or half-high bodies, are now uni- 
versally adopted for dinner cos- 
tume, as are also long sleeves. We 
observe that backs, which had de- 
creased a little in breadth, have 
again expanded. Dresses conti- 
nue to be very becomingly made 
about the shoulders; they only fall 





»uf)iciently to give an appeuiance 
of ease to tlie shape. 

Wliite gau/e and while net are 
most ju estimation tor full dress; 
crapes, especially coloured ones, 
are very litile seen. The ravoiniic 
form is a gown, cut low all round 
the bosom and back of the neck, 
tight to the shape in iVont, and a 
considerable fulness both in the 
body and skirt behind. Short 
sleeves, are worn very short, very 
full, and in general draj^critd with 
sdk or pearl ornaments. Blood is 
still worn for trimmings; but we 
think that the same material as the 
dress, fancifully intermixed , with 
ribbon, small pipes of satin, or satin 

able both for morning and half 
jdress. Oneof ihe prettiest morn- 
ing caps which we have seen, is a 
small mob, composed of alternate 
strips of British net and letting-in 
lace; the former i'ull, and the latter 
plain: it is trimmed round the lop 
of the crown wuIj lace, set on very 
lull ; the ends are cut very narrow, 
and placed very far back : it has a 
single border of lace, set on very 
full, and a large bow of white satin 
ribbon pinned a little to one side. 
For the mostelegant half-dress cap, 
we must refer our readers to our 
print, as we have seen nt.'ihing so 
tasteful or becoming. 

We have no alteration to notice 

wreaths of leaves, is more u,enerally K either in plain dressing or orna 

adopted. Embroidery is still in I akentSL for the hair since last monih. 

much request, as are also long i In half-dress jewellery gold or 

wreaths of artificial flowers. Dress- 
es are still trimmed very high, 
which is a great disadvantage to 
under-sized belles. 
^^^^,When dresses are trimmed with 
embroidery, they are frequently 
worn with a white satin brace, em- 
broidered to correspond : the form 

naiTients alone are adopted. Cor- 
nelian, which was high in estima- 
tion when mixed with gold, has de- 
clined for some time past, and is 
now exploded. Gold ornaments 
are now very expensive, because 
the workmanship of them is so ex- 
tremely elegant. The Frencli no 

_- J. . — — — ..- _, — ^ 

of this brace is different to any j longer retain their pre-eminenceiii 
ihing that has yet been introduced; !j jewellery ; and we are happy to say, 
it forms a point beliind, crosses in I^ that French trinkets are much less 
front, and is cut out on each bre*ist j vvom than, they have been. 

so as to display the uuderrdre^i it 
is, in our opinion, highly advanta- 
geous to the shape. - -. . i 
Corncttes continue very fasbioiVr 

ottfadhionable colours for tbemonth 
.ane^ Pomoiia green, dark and azure 
blae, evening primrose, peach-co- 
lotuvaud laveivderv 

;.iu s 

FASHIONABLE t^-y^Nltyi^E;.. 


The Mona marble has so consi- ' receive the ornanicj.ts of bronze, 
derably increased in reputation and :' or-molu,or bhule,Math vyhich these 
fashion, that no apology wt.-cX be chimney-pieces are usually orna- 
offered for presenting our readers mented fur a|)arLments of superior 
with the annexed design, which i decoration. From the circumstance 
shews the simple forms proper tQ ; of this simplicity of design, tliey 

rot. II. No. X. K K 



are manufactured at prices calcu- i; of the Mona marble, and from the 

lated to supersede similar works in 

they have a considerable advantage, 
from the beautifully variegated tints 

circumstance of its preserving the 

foreign white marbles, over which 1 original freshness of effect, which 

statuary loses in a few years. 


The Rev. C. Colton is prepa- 
ring a work, under the expressive 
title of Many Things in few PVords, 
addressed to fewer persons who 

J Dian/ of a Journey into North 
Wales, by thclate Dr. Samuel John- 
son, printed from the original MS. 
in his own hand-writing, together 
with a fac-simile of a part of the 
manuscript, edited, with illustrative 
notes, by Mr. Duppa,will be speed- 
ily published. 

Mr. Mudie is about to publish a 
grand Series of Forty Medals, com- 
memorating British victories under 
the Duke of Wellington; a work 
which will enrich the cabinet of 
the amateur with a class of art but 
little known in this country, and 
which will deliver down to posterity 
an elegant and energetic record of 
the glorious events which have so 
highly exalted our national cha- 

Sermons on interesting Subjects, by 
the late Rev. James Scott, D.D. 
rector of Simonburn, Northumber- 
land, and Fellow of Trinity Col- 
lege, Cambridge, are in the press. 
Mr. T. Lester, of Finsbury- 
place, is preparing for publication, 
in monthly numbers. Illustrations 
of London, containing a series of 
cn«;raved views and delineations 
of antiquarian, architectural, and 
other subjects in the metropolis, 
with historical and topographical 

The Rev. John Bruce, of New- 
port, is printing Juvenile /InecdoteSf 
designed for the moral and reliy;ious 
instruction of the rising; 2;enera- 

Mr. Robert Fellows, of St. Mary 
Hall, Oxford, has in the press, A 
Historic of Ceylon, from the earliest 
period to the year 1815; with cha- 
racteristic details of the people. 

Mr. T. Dibdin is preparing for 
the press. The posthumous dramatic 
Pieces of the late Mr. Benjamiii- 
Thompson, accompanied with a co- 
pious memoir, in two octavo vo- 

The Rev. Joseph Hunter, of 
Bath, proposes to print in a quarto 
volume, with suitable embellish- 
ments, yJnnals and a Topographical 
Survey of the Parish of Shefjield, or 
UallanisJiire ; with many original, 
biographical, and bibliographical 

Mr. Matthew Gregson, of Liver- 
pool, is printing, in a small folio 
volume. Fragments of the History of 
the County of Lancaster, with nume- 
rous engra\ings. 

Mr. Charles Peter Whitaker, 
formerly of the University of Got- 
tingen, and professor of lan- 
guages, is preparing for publica- 
tion, A new Grammar of the French 
Language, on a plan perfectly ori- 
giiuil, intended for the use of those 
who wish to acquire a speedy and 
grammatical knowledge of modern 
French ; to be interspersed with in«^ 



genious exercises and examples, 
illustrative of the peculiar con- 
struction and idiom of the lan- 
guage: the whole calculated to fa- 
cilitate the acquirement of gram- 
naatical rules, without the unne- 
cessary fatigue and perplexity of 
the old system. 

Miss D. P. Campbell, a young 
lady, resident in one of the north- 
ernmost isles of Scotland, who, for 
some years past, has contributed 
to the maintenance of a distressed 
mother, and supported entirely by 
her own exertions a younger bro- 
ther and sister, proposes, in further- 
ance of that support, to publish a 
volume of Poews; the greater part 
of which were originally written 
without the view of ever extending 
them beyond the small circle of her 
own acquaintance, until severe and 
accumulated misfortunes compel- 
led her to offer them to the public. 
An edition of these poems was 
published at Inverness in 1811, 
when the authoress had not yet at- 
tained her 17th year, for the amia- 
ble purpose of liberating her fa- 
ther from a prison. That beloved 
parent is since dead ; and the help- 
less situation in which he left his 
family, has induced his unhappy 
daughter to attempt, by subscrip- 
tion, the publishing of a second 
edition of her works, considerably 
improved and enlarged, in one vo- 
lume 8vo. 

Major Hawker, of Long Parish 
House, Hampshire, has ready for 
publication, a work entitled. In- 
structions to Young Sportsmen. It 
comprises a gentlemanlike code of 
precepts for the conduct of the 
sportsman in every department of 
his amusements — points out the 
minutiae of a good gun and shooting 

tackle, gives directions for choosiufi 
and training dogs, with the best 
remedies for their various diseases; 
and in enumerating the various 
species of what is called game, the 
author has made some valuable ad- 
ditions to our present stock of 
knowledge in natural history, par- 
ticularly in British ornithology. 
The work concludes with a clear 
and succinct abstract of the game 
laws, which must be of incalculable 
service to all those who wish to 
avoid lawsuits and live on good 
terms with their neighbours ; and 
is enriched with splendid engra- 
vings by Lowry. 

The following arrangements have 
been made for Lectures at the 
Surry Institution, during the en- 
suing season : — 1. On Chemistry, 
by John Murray, Esq. to commence 
on Tuesday, Nov. 12, at seven 
o'clock in the evening precisely, 
and to be continued on each suc- 
ceeding Tuesday. — 2. On Aeros- 
tation, by John Sadler, Esq. to be 
delivered on Frida}' evenings, Nov. 
15th and 22d,atthe same hour. — 3. 
On the Principles and practical 
Application of Perspective, byJohu 
George Wood, Esq. to commence 
on Friday, the 20ib of November, 
and to be continued on each suc- 
ceeding Friday, at the same hour. — 
4. On Astronou)}', by John Milling- 
ton, Esq. civil engineer, to com- 
mence in January, 1817. — 5. On 
Music, by W. Crotch, M. D. Pro- 
fessor of Music in the University 
of Oxford, to commence in Febru- 
ary, 1817. 

Messrs. Netlam and Giles, of 
New Inn, have issued proposals for 
publishing by subscription, a new 
Map of the county palatine of Lan- 
caster, from an actual survey, upoD 



the basis of the Trigonometrical 
Survey of Enghind, as determined 
by Lieutenant - Colonel William 
Mudge, of t!ie Royal Artilkny, 
F.R. S, and Captain Tlionias Col- 
by, of the Hoyal Engineers; at a 
scale of one inch to a mile. The 
trigonometrical survey is com- 
menced, and will he executed en- 
tirely i)y Messrs. Netlam and Giles 
themselves, and tlie general survey 
of the interior will be carried on by 
them and assistants. That thesub- 1 
scribers and the public may besa- ' 
lisiied of the autlienticity of the I 
survey, they propose to publish a | 
memoir of the angles, and their 
computations, by which the rela- 
tive distances of the principal ob- 
jects in the county will be deter- 
mined, and t'liC process of the work 
explained, it gives us pleasui'e to 
observe, that upwards of seven hun- 
dred subscribers hiive already given 
their suj)port to this undertaking. 

Mr, Edward Heard has invented 
a chemical re-aoent, bv which he 
renders salt-water capable of wash- 
ing and cooking. Various experi- 
ments have beeu tried with it in 
the navy, under the direction of 
the Board of Admiralty, with suc- 
cess. If adopted, it would promote 
cleanliness among our seamen, the 
principal requisite for the preser- 
vation of health ; remove the lead- 
ing causes of contagion on ship- 
board from dirty garments, beds, 
and bedding ; and afford means to 
passengers of washing weekly, if 
necessary, and lessen the amount 
and expenses of equipment. 

Some remarkable c^ses have 
lately come to the knowledge of 
medical gentlemen, from which it 
appears, that magnesia, when taken 
\n powder, as is commonly done;, 

has remained in the system com- 
bined with animal mucus, and 
formed tumours and concretions of 
considerable size. Two instances 
of this kind are stated by Mr. 
Brande, in the last number of the 
Journal of Science and the Arts. 
In the one case, a concretion of 
magnesia and mucus, weigtiing se- 
\eral pounds, was taken out of the 
intestines after death Intheother 
case, the magnesia was ultimately 
evacuated in the state of sand, 
which, on analysis, was found to be 
the subcarbonate of magnesia. 
Magnesia is proved, by the experi- 
ments of the most eminent chemists, 
to be the best corrective of the uric 
acid, which is the principal cause 
oi" the gout and of caiculary com- 
plaints. A valuable improvement 
in the mode of preparing this me- 
dicine has been lately made by 
Messrs. Bakewell and Co. Tavis- 
tock-street, Bedford -square ; the 
magnesia being lield in a state of 
perfect solution in their magnesian 
water, whereby the possible injury 
or inconvenience of taking it in the 
form of powder is entirely obviated. 
The water is as brisk and pleasant 
as the best soda-water; and the 
magnesia is rendered mild, light, 
and easy to the stomach, being held 
in solution by fixed air, or the car- 
bonic acid. 

The lectures held by Dr. Spurz- 
heim in England, have drawn con- 
siderable attention to the system of 
craniology, founded by Dr. Gall. 
To such of our readers as are inter- 
ested in this subject, the following 
notice of a volume in imperial folio, 
just pul^lished at Munich, by Dr. 
Spi.x, will be acceptable. It is 
'entitled, Ceplui logenesis, she Capitis 
' ossei Structuru, Formatio et Sigtiifi-' 



calio, Sfc. The head is here con- 
sidered in its evolutions through- 
out the whole series of animals, 
from man to the insects, at all 
periods of life, from the embryo to 
old age. Its relations to the other 
parts of the human hody, and its 
functions as the principal organ 
of the soul, are illustrated in a new- 
manner; and the work contains 
also a critical review of all that has 
appeared on the subject. Of the 
prints, nine arc sr.aded, and nine 
in outline for demonstration. They 
are from drawings on stone l)y the 
masterly pencil of Koeck, painter 
to the academy of Miinich, cele- 
brated for his admirable designs 
for the works of Summering, Wen- 
zel, Fischer, &c. '^lliey exhibit 
exact representations of the skulls 
pf animals of all classes, and afford 
an accurate medium of comparison, 
which discovers the laws followed 

jl by nature in the formation of the 
|| difierent varieties of the head. By 

I the evidence of these laws the au- 
' thor has attempted to solve the 
r wonderful problem involved in the 
il structure, composition, and pro- 
r portion of that part of the animal 

I I frame. Psychology will thus ob- 
I tain a true foundation in nature 
[ itself; cranioscopy and physiog- 
; nomy will be reduced by some new 
jj measures to laws both simple and 
Ij comj)rehensive; zoology will be 
ji enriched with views and principles 

of the greatest importance with 
respect to the classilication of ani- 
mals ; and the whole of natural 
history will be improved by the 
discovery of an organic law, hither- 
to overlooked, which the author 
calls Lex circuilus u/ganonim. This 
curious and interesting work may 
be inspected at Mr. Ackermann's. 



From conquer'd Ligny's cruel field. 
Where shiuter'd was t'.ir Priis<ia's shield. 
In confident presumption steel'd, 

March the fierce French exniiinglv. 

With sanguine and contemptuous v'xhw, 
They trace the steps of England's few 
In proud pursuit to WaTerlnn, 

And call them theirs undoubiinglv. 

Pride- blinded men! deem it not dread 
The island lion's backward tread; 
What, if he couch his fearless head, 
'Tis but to spring more mightily ! 

Nor wish for morn, nor idly dread 
To find with night the Wcileslev fled ; 
The ground to-night that yields a bed. 
Gives him a grave or victory ! 

That tempest- troubled night is gone; 
Each deadly preparation done; 
And now the carnage-craving gun 

Bids to the battle horribly! 
On comes the furious Gaul — they close ; 
Fire answers fire ; blows earn but blows; 
No breach those living walls disclose — 

Vain their impetuosity! 
Forward their usurpation's best ! 
Iron of heart, in iron ve*t — 
'Tis vain — they may not bifle the test 

Of naked British bravery ! 
Then pourthy all into the fray. 
Desperate! and yet retrieve the dav; — 
Beholfl, that terrible arrnv, 

Hankless, return discomfited! 
And where is he for whom ihey bleed ? 
The proufi in word, and base in deed. 
Fixing his fate upon his steed, 

He flies the field disgractfoHv. 



Where peace- entreating Europe's claim ? 
Accomplish'd iu one day of fame! 
Emblazoning thy glorious name, 
O concord-conqu'ring Wellington ! 

Where they in freedom's cause who died, 
Their country's sorrow and her pride? 
E'en as they fought, so, side by side. 
Still lie the brothers brotherly. 

And side by side shall they be seen, 
In England's roll of triumphs been. 
And nurs'd with English tears,stiU green. 
Shall bloom their wreaths eternally ! 


Ah ! who has power to say 
To-morrow's sun shall warmer glow. 
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe 

Diffuse a brighter ray ? 

Ah ! who is ever sure, 
Thoiigh all that can the soul delight, 
This hour enchants the wond'ring sight, 

'J'hese raptures will endure? 

Is there, in life's dull toil. 
One certain moment of repose. 
One ray to dissipate our woes. 

And bid Reflection smile? 

We seek Hope's gentle aid; 
We think the lovely phantom pours 
Her balmy incense on those flow'rs 

Which blossom but to fade! 

We court Love's thrilling dart. 
And when we think our joys supreme. 
We find its raptures but a dream. 

Its boon a wounded heart ! 

We pant for glitt'ring fame^ MiolrMv? 
And, when pale Envy blots the |!»a^' " 
That might have charm'd a future age. 

We find 'tis but a name ! 

W^e toil for paltry ore. 
And when we gain the golden prize. 
And Death appears, with aching eyes 

We view the useless store ! 

How frail is Beauty's bloom! 
The dimpled cheek, the sparkling eye — 
Scarce seen, before their wonders tly. 

To decorate a tomb ! 

Then since this fleeting breath 
Is bat the zephvr of a day. 
Let Conscience make each minute gay. 

And brave the shafts of Death! 

And let the gen'rous mind 
With pity view the erring throng. 
Applaud the right, forgive the wrong. 

And feel for all mankind ! 

For who, alas I shall say, 
" To-morrow's sun shall brighter glow. 
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe 

Diffiise a brighter ray?" 



Why, pretty Turtle, dost thou mourn 
Within this lonely grove? 
/.V> J Turtle. 

I've lost, alas ! my only joy. 
The partner of my love. 
Art not afraid the fowler's hand 
Thy blood, like his, should spill? 
Ah, no ! for if he kills me not. 
Incessant sorrow will. 



On the Statue of Venus. 

Such mimic charms in every feature 

With such perfection glow'd the breath- 
ing stone. 

That lovely Venus, stooping from the 

Exclaim'd, whilst wonder fix'd her sted- 
fast eyes, 

" Alas ! for me, if such superior grace 

Had beam'd in Juno's or Minerva's face, 

Venus had claim'd the golden prize in 

Ax\A fled unhononr'd from th' Idalian 

R. N. D. 

L, Harrison, Printer, 373, Strand. 

« 9 • 'tDf'. J 





ManuJ'aclures^ S^c, 


Vol. II. 

November 1, IBIO. 

N« XI. 

Cottage Orne .... 
Vitw OF THE Waterloo Bridge 
Ladies' Morning Dress 

Evening Dress 

An English Bed 

Pattern eor Needle- Work. 

, 249 
, 288 
, 209 
. 305 




Ari Iiilectural Hints — Description of a 
Cotla^te Orue — Observations on the 
Dry-Rot in Buildings 349 

Architectural Review. — Description of 
V'auxhall Bridu,e 252 

Chroiiologieal Survey of the most eminent 
Artists to the Commenecmeul of the 
Sixteenth Century. — Painters; Period 
in wliich they flourished; principal 
Works and Merits 054 


How to preserve tlic Eyes; General Rules 
for the C'lioice of Spcctarli-s, and "(le- 
ihod of judging under what Ciicum- 
8tances the Eyesigiit may be a..sisted 
by Glasses 

Pipparation of Golrl and Siher Bronze . 

Proc'ss of removing Spots of Oil and 
Greast- fii>m Books anci Prints 

Method of rlesiroying or driving away 
ILarth-woi nis, Caterpillars, and other 
Insects hurtl'ul to Fields and Gardens 

Process of iiiiikiiig Stilton Cheese . 

Persian Mdhod of inlaying engraved .Sil- 
ver with a durable bhick I'liiamc'l 

Preservation of CJunpowder 265 


Memoir of Mary de Medicis, by Madame 
de Gen LIS 


On the Nature and Use of Day-iiglit, a 
recent Discovery in the Tine Arts . 

History of Louisa Lovewoilb .... 

The Story c.f Esuj.ib, or the Man who was 
born too late "... 28 1 




20 4 




The Female Tattler.— No. XI 

Desdiption of the Waterloo Bridge . . 
Adventures of a Legacy- Hunti-ess . . . 


Klose's " Waters of Elle" .... 

■ The Tuscan's Iiivncalion , . 

Gildon's Duet for one Piano- Forte 

Davy's Duet for the Harp and Piano- 

RiEs's Rondo 

Kiallmakk's •' Now each Tie of Love 
IS broken" 

Kalkbren'Ner's Souata 

HoDsoLL's Duets 

CoRRi's "'s Cot" 

BURROWES' '* The Lothian Lassie" 

l)RoiiKT.«' Three Waltzes for two Flutes 

Beczh arzowskt's Saxe-Cobourg . 


Adventures of a Greek Lady, from TCL- 
LY'S Narrative of a Residtncc at Tripoli 


London Fashions. — Morning Dress — 
Evening Dress 

General Observations on Fashion and 

French Female Fashions 

Fashiouable Furniture.— An English Bed 



To T. Campbell, en reading his " Plea- 
sun s 01" Hope" 



. 2d4 
. 2»8 
. 289 












L Harrison, Printer, 373, Strand. 



Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musicnl Composers, are requested to transmit 
announcements of uorks which they may have in hand, and we shall cheerfully insert 
them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense. JSeiv musical publications also, if 
a copy be addressed to the publisher, shall be du/y noticed in our Review; and extracts 
from new books, of a moderate length and of an interesting nature, suitable for our 
Selections, will be acceptable. 

The favours of Mrs. Serres, Oscar, t^c. shall have a place in our next. 

The Admirin2[ Bachelor's Enigmatical List of handsome young Ladies at' 
Stonehouse appears to us to be very deficient in that precision which is essentially rc'^ 
quisitcfor any successful attempt at explanation, ^^.^bn^;! ddi >,'iuui Wn i 

The Publisher of the Repository acknowledges the regti^,loJ[ ^ints of A Well- 
wisher, and hopes to be able to profit by them. . . , . . 

The writer of the ingenious paper On the Nature and Use of Day-light in the 
Fine Arts, given in our present Number, authorizes us to assure our readers, that the 
Notes to that article shall be forwarded in time for bur next publication. ^ -''^■' ' -■^^''^ 

• •S.-v '■ .. vuMS:; -'^ ii lo fe3lC»;S3 

^!r'nri8 Jujii 3r,<ftff:) JR tn fbc= 
Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with thi^ 'Wotk every Month ns 
published, may have it sent to them, free of Posta<je, to New-York, Halifax, Quebec, and 
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TLitt-. Z 

(T- (f); TT T'/V. n "ff^ ''n^'T? ^-T I'-' 




ARTS, literaturf:, fashions, 

Manufactures^ ^c. 


Vol. n. 

November 1, 1816. 

N^ XI. 




To combine utility witli pictu- , liarity of character, that probahi\ 
resque beauty at a nioilcrate ex- 

j;)erjse in buildings of this descrip- 

would not have been tlie result of 
premeditation. This mode of pro- 

tion, is at all times the endeavour ccedino;, however, in which the 

of the architect; he is aware that 

agreeable appearances must be 

obtained, but that it is improper to j suited to regular architecture; in 

convenience of arrangement is 
made to govern the design, is not 

sacrifice to them the real conveni: 
encies of a dwelling, or to obtain 

i it the proportions of the various 
forms and dispositions of the seve- 

boi'h at a charge that should be- ! ral parts are adjusted by severities 
long only to buildings of greater [I of rule, which make the contrary 
pretensions. This, consideration ;' practice indispensable: and it was 
has led to the devising of irretru- this circumstance, not less than the 
lar [jlans for the cottage erne, in , desire of pleasing by theintroduc- 
which symmetrical arrangements ') tion of a novelty, that induced the 

of pure architecture are not ob- 
served, and the parts are then so 
disposed as to form pleasing corn- 

late Mr. W'yatt to cultivate that pe- 
culiar style, which he formed from 
a mixture of the castle style with 

binations of form, in which, of | tliat of the conventual and cathe- 
course, some intricacy occurs, and , dral Gothic ; for being about to 
to produce varied elVects of light | make consideral)le additions to 
and shadow. Additions to old j buildings containing very noble 
buildings are sometimes made in |j apartments, so disjjosed as to be 
this way, with great advantage to l| iniinical to architectural symmetry, 
the convenience of tl.-e interior of j he reverted to the practice of the 
the house and to the beauty of the , early architects of our own coun- 
building externally ; for it not un- try, and surmounted the difficulties 
frequently happen?,thatconcurring i of such arrangements by aiming to 
circumstances will effect a pecu- i produce grand and picturesque 
VhL II. y», X[. L L 



efTects, rather than those of statel}- 
elegance ; and it is perhaps to the 
encouragement given to this eft'ort 
by the taste antl judgment of the 
present Earl of Essex, that we are 
indel)tcd to so extensive a recovery 
of m;oiy hcauiies in English archi- 

The plan of the annexed design 
of a cottage ome de|)arts but little 
from a simply oblong form, but it 
marks that no attempt has been 
made to complete it; and in the 
elevation also, the forms are dis- 
posed with ^ very limited regard 
to a perfect symmetry of its parts. 
This building is arranged lor a 
small famil}-, and consists of a hall, 
staircase, dining and drawing- 
rooms, closet for coats, &c. a kitch- 
en, sculler}', ami larder on the 
ground-floor; on tlie chamber-floor 
are five rooms and a closet; and on 
the under-ground story are proper 
wine, beer, and coal-cellars, a cold 
larder and store-room. Plans of 
this description have the advantage 
of losing no space by communicat- 
ing passages, which too commonl}- 
increase the magnitude of build- 
ings, and consequently the expense 
of then), without a corresponding 
benefit. The absence or spare ap- 
plication of passages, constitutes, 
perhaps, one of the perfections of 
a plan, provided all the rooms are 
approachable independently of 
each other from the hall, staircase, 
or vestibule; and such simplicity 
of arrangeujcnt should always have 
a due consideration. The roof of 
this design is made to project be- 
yond the walls of tlie house, and 
,thus,atlbrds an opportunity of form - 

,JP.S ^ te'^'^'l^'T ^'.'>^' double virandah, 
.J a very desirable appendage to a 
■. yilla, whose chief aiKirtments are 

presented to south or to south- 
western aspects. 



( Continued fiotn p. 190 J 

The disease in buildings, termed 
the dry-rot, being ascertained to 
originate in the corruption of the 
timber used in it, or from some 
vegetable putrescence in its neigh- 
bourhood, assisted by a certain 
proportion of heat and moisture, it 
will be evident that tlie prevention 
of the disease in new buildings 
about to be erected will depend on 
the choice or judicious manage- 
ment of the ground on which 
we build; on the construction of 
the building; on the nature and 
state of the timber and other ma- 
terials employed ; and on the pro- 
per drainage and due ventilation 
of all its parts. 

Clay soils are the most genera- 
tive of this disease; the surfaces of 
them, and frequently the clay it- 
self, abounds with vegetable par- 
ticles, and it is often found deeply 
seated in it in the state of slime. 
Where trees, shrubs, or hetlges 
have grown, the earth retains parts 
of their roots, which, upon decay, 
produce small funguses : the sur- 
faces and loose parts of all such 
soils should be carefully removed, 
and, if needful, the deficiencies be 
supplied uiih gravel, or some other 
pure material, great care being 
taken that an adequate drainage is 
obtained ; for, in tliis case, it is of 
the first consequence, as a clay soil, 
from its retention of damps and 
tenacious hold of corrupt matter, 
may be considered, in most in- 
stances, as the primary source of 
the dry-rot in buildings so situated. 



Buildings arc more or less fa- 
vourable to the production of liie 
dry-rot, as by their construction 
they more or less receive the ad- 
vantages which are derived from 
good drainage and free ventilation ; 
by these the adjustment of that due 
proportion of heat and moisture, so 
necessary to the progress of the 
disease, is wholly destroyetl, and 
consequently the tendency to its 
progress by otlier causes is coun- 
teracted, and is never perhaps ma- 
nifested by a speedy decay. For 
this purpose areas should be form- 
ed all round the builditig, and the 
under part of the lower lloors freely 
ventilated, particularly if they are 
contained in what is termed an 
under-ground story ; and it is not 
enough that air be admitted into 
those parts by one aperture, such 
openings must be multiplied, and 
so disposed as to produce a conti- 
nued current, and consequently a 
removal of the impurities that might 
otherwise remain in theu». If, how- 
ever, a sufficient circulation can- 
not be obtained in this way, some 
other device must be resorted to, 
and perliaps there is no better 
means for this purpose than com- 
mon Hues, which may bo carrietl 
up with the chimney Hues of the 
house whenever a stack for them 
conveniently presents itself, or by 
other tlues, to destroy the equili- 
brium of the air which surrounds 
the atmosphere of the confined 
apartment. The dry-rot sometimes 
begins at the top of the house ; 
in this situation it is owincr usuallv 
to the gutters, eitlier from their 
being too small for the quantity of 
water they have to dismiss, from 
the improper method used in lav- 
ing tbeiu, or the bud execution of 

the work: the same ronsequcnres 
frequently occur from similar de- 
fects in the water-pipes or cistern- 
headsr which sutler the wa'.er to 
overllow them, and is thence re- 
ceived by the w.dls of the house, 
with all the vegeiuble matter that 
may l)e in solution with it. 

Unseasoned timber, or timber 
that contains much of that moisture 
which was essential to its growth 
when in the state of a living tree, 
necessarily snlferb u (le;:ree of fer- 
mentation and corruption, propor- 
tioned to the suitableness of the 
situation in which it is placed, to- 
wards promoting and su|)porting 
tjie natural principle of decay. 
Timber in this state should be re- 
jected, and such only employed as 
is dry, and in which the viscous por- 
tion of its substance has become 
hard. That timber is the best 
suited to the purposes of building 
where the rot may be expected, 
which is least liable to sutler a 
resolution of its softer parts by 
the wet or damp to \\hich it may 
be exposed. 

Many ingenious sj)ecu!ations 
have been entertained on a better 
j)ractice of telling trees in our own 
("ouiiirv, aiul in a pre[)aralion of all 
timber prior to the ath, ission of it 
into buildings; and ex|)erience 
proves the btnctits that would re- 
rcsult, from experiments formed 
from effects already knov\n. not 
onlv to edifices where the presence 
of the dry-rot is expected, hut to 
buildings generally. This terrific 
disease sometimes originates in the 
walls of a house where timber is 
not present, and is caused by the 
corrupt matter too frccjuenily used 
in the preparation of the mortar, 
such as loam, unwashed road-sand^ 
L L 2 



or screened rubbish; and it most 
commonly prevails where the brick- 
work is not solidly filled up with 
what is termed grouting, or mor- 
tar, hut where the bricks are so put 
togeti^er that interstices and va- 
cancies exist capable of" retaining 
any corrupt exlialacions that may 
a¥ise from; the cellars or founda- 
tions. Masons also infect a build- 
ing with the dry-rot that otherwise 
would he uiiolly free from it, by 
laying the pavings of the lower 
apartments with improper earth; 
and it is very often found to pro- 
ceed trom fire-places, where ma- 
sons have prepared a support for 
the hearth or slab with corrupt 
satid'^' and from the same cause, 

paved halls and the landings of 
stairs are spots from which the dis- 
ease has origiuated in many in- 
stances. Cesspools, drains, and 
wells require to be ventilated, un- 
less they are so deeply situated 
from tlie surface of the ground, 
that being well covered, the bad air 
from them cannot reach the foun- 
dations of the walls or tiie lower 
apartmerits: this is, however, atl 
uncommon practice, but of great 
advantage, not less towards the 
prevention of many disorders to 
which the human frame is incident 
from corrupt air, than for tlie pre- 
vention of the disease in question. 

•'(To be continued.) <''J<i'iJ 
liu ydJ ; .q lav/oi 

.vm(,..,In s„MSJ^?Tjq,TFR.4.|f,. REVIEW.. „i, ^j,„„,<i 

hilG no VAUXHALL BttlDGE. ;;.,.,,, .jr, 

!;I1^.fs no inconsiderable proof of 
the wealth and liberty of a coun- 
try, when a few of its individuals 

men in tbis country are found, and 
weshall ever be as happy to applaud 
their undertakinjj as to witness; 

unite in the bold speculation of |j their successful accomplishment of 
building a bridge over a wide and ii so great a public benefit. .' nofJ 
rapid river; and it is a strongly The building of bridges was con- 
presumptive proof of its increase 1 sidered so highly, and of such great 
of internal commerce, when the I importance, in ancient times, that 
payment of its vast expense is an- | among the Romans it was commit- 
ticipated to be complete in a few [ ted to the priests, until at length 
years, from the collection of very the emperors condescended to be- 
nioderate tolls : and yet one of the come the conservators of them ; 
noblest bridges of Europe is now and in the middle ages, bridge- 
erecting over the Thames in Lon- ! building was received as one of the 
don upon such a speculation, and acts of religion. Under the name 
upon such expectancy. And cer- j o^ pontijices, or bridge-builders, iu' 

taiiily it is a bold and r patriotic 
deed to erect a bridge more re- 
moved from the immediate point of 
trade^ depending for renmiieration 
en theaniiual dividend, in theshape 
of interest, that certain tolls will 
^^ojrd.tQit? proprieto|-s. But suob 

the twelfth centur}' an order of 
Hospitallers was founded, whose 
duty it w'as to erect bridges for the 
convenience of travellers; and up 
to no very late period, the names of 
those whose munificencehad found- 
ed others were held in as pious me-r 



mory, and became as (Jcvouily pray- 
ed fer, iis vv«jj\' the good fionti/icea. 
. liVauxhall Bndge crosses the 
Thames near the junction of the 
Vunxliall, South Lambeth, and 
Poi'ismouih roads, and unites them 
with lue opposite shore at the end 
of MiH-Bank, inTolhill Fields: it 
forms a ready communication with 
tl-.t- south of Vyestminster ; and to 
peisous travel linj5 to or from the 
noriii-wcst of London, and phices 
in its vicinity, it presents the means 
of a considerable abridgment of 
tl'.eir journey. The bridge consists 
of nine arcues and ei^iht piers, ex- 
clusive of the abutments, which 
are approached by very easy as- 
cents. The piers arc of stone, the 
lower part rusticated, and the up- 
per part ornamented by niches and 
pannels ; the arches and tiie super- 
structure are of iron, which, being 
open, gives the whole an effect of 
lightness, but, in this case, without 
that general appearance of instfCH''- 
rity which too often belongs to 
them. . 

Iron bridges are exclusively the 
invention of British artists, and it 
is flattering to our national talent, 
and useful to the best interests of 
the country, when they are success- 
fully adopted : they afford encou- 
ragement to ingenuity, support 
tliousands of industrious workmen, 
and give facilities to trade; fortlie 
comjiarative cheapness of their 
construction enables speculators to 
erect them where bridges would 
not exist, if they had to meet the 
vast exjmnses or" stone-work, or the 
continual dilaj)idations to which 
wooden bridges are <uhjected." c 

In tlie general design the enei- 
neer bis succeeded ; he lias formed 
^n agreeable whole, -by carefully 

separating the fitting and pleasur- 
able of construction Irum the sur- 
prising, and by not speculating 
upon the possible, rather than the 
probable, in the practicability of 
the arches. By his arrangements 
he has certainly lessened the ex- 
pense considerably, and not a little 
also by the ingenious plan of in- 
creasing the height of the piers 
progressively from the abutments 
at eacli shore up to the centre arch ; 
by this means the superior eleva- 
tion of this arch is obtained, and 
all the others decrease in height 
according to the inclined line of 
the topof the bridge, notwithstand- 
ing the ribs of all the arches are 
ptrft^ctlj- alike, being formed from 
the same radius, and probably all 
cast from the same set of patterns. 
This last circumstance must have 
Saved a considerable sum of money ; 
indeed, so far as discretion and 
foresight could be exemplified in 
tliis-structure, it has been mani- 
fested: the bridge, therefore, is 
highly creditable to the engineer* 
But as a work of art, in which 
chasteness of design, truth and 
harmony of composition, and know- 
ledge of forms, with all the beauti- 
ful modification of light and sha- 
dow, are iiivoived, the bridge has 
not a similar claim to our ajiplause. 
As it is aj)pr<)ached by water, the 
spectator is some time in doubt if 
the bridge be not' designed in the 
Gothic taste (and it cofJainly is not 
intended to be so), for the iij^right 
forms that fill the spandrils give it 
that character ; and if the whole at 
a small distance be viewed from 
either of the shores, they induce 
the spectator to receive as real the 
illusion that makes every arch ap- 
pear a pointed one, a peculiartty 


in Gothic arcluLccturc. The niches 
in tlie piers are too small : the rail- 
ing on the top is mean, and, from 
the meagreness of tlie top rail, it 
has, to the passengers, the appear- 
ance of heing unsafe: tb.e alcoves 
on the centre of the hridge might 
well have been spared, as they can- 
not afford good shelter, and are 
not beautiful ; and the toll-houses 
are l)uilt from designs equally re- 
moved from just claims to archi- 

tectuVal reputation. Indeed it is 
njanifest, that tlie whole is the work 
of an engineer unaided by proper 
architectural assistance; and it is 
to be regretted, that in this, as well 
as in most other edifices construct- 
ed chiefly of iron, the same de- 
ficiency exists, whicli would not 
occur if the commissioners for 
building then) appreciated duly the 
value of architectural fitness and 


(Continued from p. 198 J 

IN WHICH ; Giovanni Gaddi, of Florence, 1310. 




Bruno di Giovanni, of Florence, 1320. 

Lirpo Memmi, of Sieiia, 1320. Many 
\vorks ill the clmicii of S. Croce at 
Florence; lor the ciiuiihes ofS, Ca- 
tering and S. P;uj1o at Pisa; for S. 
Gregorio at Arezzo; for S. Francesco 
at Pisioia, at Assisi, and at Ancona. 
He was a pupil of Giotto, but inferior 
jui merit to Simon Memmi. 

Bartoli GioGGi, of Italy, 1.S20. Many 
work', in the caiiiedial orOivieto. 

Ambuogio Louenzet: I, of Siena, I340. 
Many works in tlie hospital of Mona 
Agnesa, in S. Agostino, and in the pa- 
lace della Signoria at Siena. An altar- 
piece at Vohena., . A- chapel in the 
cathedral of Orvietp^ .,A , chapel at 
Massa. An aliar-piece in S. Procolo 
at I'lorence. Several paintings in the 
chvHch of S. Margliei-ita at Cortona. 
He possessed ^xp<i^ skillialhe tpeat- 

" ment offresco^^ ^ n, rhnn''? "'i- 

Agnolo Gaddi, of Florence, 1340. 
Works in S. Jacopo tra' e Fossi at 
Florence. Two chapels, in fresco, in 
S. Croce, in the same city. A coro- 

" nation of the Madonna, in S. Maria 

jjjjMaggiore, and many other works in 
^^ same city. ^fie^^a^^H^jupil of 


eo Gaddi. " 

Many works in association with Ag- 
nolo Gaddi, He was a pupil of Tad- 
deo and Agnolo Gaddi. 

Giovanni da Mh.ano, of Milan, 1340. 
An altar-piece in S. Croce, and an- 
other in Ognissanti, at Florence. A 
crucifix, a Madonna, and S. Clara, at 
Assisi. Many works at Milan. He 
was a disciple of Agnolo Gaddi. 

Ugolino, of Sieiid, 134-0. The paint- 
ings for die high altar of S. Croce, on 
a gokl ground. A picture for the 
high altar of S. Maria Novella. A 
great number of works in many other 
cities of Italy. He was a pupil of Ci- 
mabue, and had much practice in the 
style of the Greek masters. 

Andrea Pisano, of Pisa, 1340. Many 
works at Pisa, Lucca, and particularly 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

DoNATO, ot Arezzo, 1 340. Many works 
in the cathedral of Orvieto. 

Bartolommuo BoLOGHiNi, oF Siena, 
1340. Altar-piece in the chapel of 
S. Silvester in S. Croce at Florence. 
Many works at Siena, and other places 
in Italy. He was a pupil of Lau- 

Andrea di Cione Okgagna, of Flo- 
rence, 1340. The Last Judgment in 
the Campo Santo at Pisa, with many 
portraits of celebrated persons then 



alive. Till- l/.isl Jud^ineut in S. Croce, 
aiid D.iiilc's Ik-ll for S. Maria Novella 
at riorciicc, likewise wiili nuiiieious 
portraits. Paradise, atur Dante, willi 
liis brother Bernanl, in the same city. 
Many other fresco-puiiuiiigs there. 
He was very skilliil in fresco; and his 
are the first known allempls to repre- 
sent the Lust Judgment. 

Bernardo Orgacjna, of Florence, 13 k). 
Paradise and Hell after Dante, in asso- 
ciation with his brother, at Morence. ; 

Giovanni da Ponto, of Florence, 13W. ' 
Many vvoiks, in fresco, at Empoli. , 
Many works in S. 'i'rinita, and in other i 
churches and convents at Florence. 
He was a pupil of IJufralniacco. ! 

Jacopo ui Casen UNO, of Pratovccchio, ' 
J'J+O. Many works at Florence in i 
and about public buildings, and in the 
churches of S. Bartolommeo, S. Do- 
nienico, and S. Agos'.ino, at Arezzo. I 
He was a pupil of Taddeo G'addi. 

[About this time lived Niclas [ 
Wl'rmser, of Bohemia, by whom 
there is a Christ on the cross, with 
Mary and John, on a gold ground, in 
the gallery of Vienna.] 

ToMMAso CioTTiNO, of Florence, 13G0. 
A chapel in S. Stefuno al Ponte Vec- 
chio, at Florence. A chapel in S. 
Spirilo, the chapel i^f S. Silvester in S. | 
Croce, and the chapel of S. Lorenzo 
in S, Maria ^sovella, all in the same 
city. Many works at Rome, as in S. 
Giovanni di Laterano, in Ara Coell, 
and in the Orsini palace. He took 
Giotto for his model. 

Berna, of Siena, 1360. Several fresco 
I>aintings in S. Agostino at Siena. The 
fayade of the church of S. Margare- 
tha, and several other paintings at 
Coi tona. Works at Arezzo, and in S. 
S|)irilo at Florence. Into all his per- 
formances he introduced nianv por- 
traits of himself and his friends. He 
excelled in many particulars, «;speci- 
ally in simpliciiy and dignity of ex- 

,^Gio<vANNi d'Asciaxo, of Siena, 15G0. 

Various paintings in the hospital della 
Scala at Siena, and in the palaces of 
the Mtdicis al Florence. He was a 
pupil of Jierna. 

Antonio Vineziano, of Venice, 1360. 
A fayade for the hall del Consiglio at 
Venice. Works in the convent of S. 
Splrito at Florence. About twenty 
large |)aintings in the Cam[)o Santo at 
Pisa, which are some of the best, in 
that edifice. Works In the cathedral 
of Pisa. An altar-piece and a Trans- 
figuraHon in the C'erto«a at Fl()rence. 
In his pictures, especially in those in 
the Ctuiipo Santo al Pisa, we meet 
with many landscapes, which are the 
fir^;t i.f any coiisp()uence that we know 
of. lie was a disciple of Agnoli* 
Gaddi. He was remarkable fur the 
grandeur, richness, and skilful arrange- 
ment of his compositions, for the 
drawing, and, above all, for the co- 
louring of his paintings in fresco. 
SpiNtCLLO, of Arezzo, 130O. I\Liny fresco 
painlings in the church of S. Niccolo 
alle Sale del Papa, in S. Maria Mag- 
giore.and in the chuichdel Carmine at 
Flbrerrce. A great number of fre*co 
paintings in the churches of Arezzo. 
Works in the Campo Santo at Pisa. 
He was a pupil of Jacopo Casen- 
Bernaudo Nello, of Pisa, 1370. Manv 

\ pictures in the cathedial of Pisa. He 
was a pupil of Andrea Orgagna. 

I TommXso di Marco, of Florence, 1370. 

i Several pictures at Florence and Pisa, 
in which latter city he worked a great 

j deal for the church of S. Antonio. A 
pupil of Andrea Orgagna. 

j Mariotto, of Florence, 1370. Many 

! pictures in Florence, parliculaily in 
the church of S. Michael lii>domini. 

I A pupil of Andrea Orgagna. 
Francesi'o Tuaini, of Florence, 1370. 
Paintings at Florence, and in the 

j church of S. Caterina at PL^a. A pu- 
pil of Andrea Orgagna. 
LippoVaSNi, of Siena, 1370. Annun- 
ciation of the Viriiin Marv in S.J)u- 



nieuicn at Siena, as well as many other 
works there. 
Bartolo de Fredi, of Siena, 1370. 
Many jjainiiDgs at Pisa, Siena, Flo- 
rence, and Gemignano. 
Giovanni TossiCANi, ofArezzo, 13S0. 
Many works at Arezzo, Assisi, Flo- 
rence, Siena, and in the cathedral <.f 
Pisa. The finest of" liis works was an 
Annunciation in (he episcopal palace 
at Aiezzo. A pupil of Giottino. 
MiCMELiNo, of Italy, 1380. Various 
works at Florence. Apupilof Giotiino. 
Giovanni pel Ponte, of Florence, iSSO. 
Many works at Florence. A pupil of 
Gherakdo Starnina, of Florence, ISSO. 
Various works in Spain. Pictures in 
the church del Carmine at Florence. 
A pupil of Ant. Viiicziano. 
Parui Spinf.llo, of Arezzn, 1380. 
Many pcimiings at Arezzo, chiefly in 
water-colours. He was sou and pu|)il 
to the elder Spinello, whom he sur- 
passed in design. 
Bernardo Daddi, of Arezzo, 1380. 
Many pictures at Arezzo, Siena, and 
Pisa. A pupil of the elder Spinello. 
Lorenzo vi Bicci, of Florence, 1380. 
Various paintings in the Riccaidi pa- 
lace, in S. Marco, in the convent of S. 
. Croce (a Sc. Thomas and a large St. 
Christopher), in the church ot the Ca- 
maldulenses, in S. Carmine, in St. Tri- 
ni;a, and in the cathedral at Florence. 
He was a pupil of the elder Spinello, 
and di^tingviished for the excellence 
of liis drawing and vivid colouring. 
IIuBERTUs VAN KvK, brother tojohannes 
van Eyk, of Maaseyk: born 1306, 
died 1420. The principal productions 
of thc-e two broihers are to be .^een at 
Bruges, Ypres, and Ghent, as well as 
in other cities of the Netherlands and 
Holland, an:l but very rarely in the 
principal galleries of Europe. These 
two Flemish painters possess the great 
merit of having opened a more exten- 
sive sphere for the art, by the in'ro- 
duction of painting in oil; and with 

them commences a new epoch in 
painting. In this new species of paint- 
ing their own works have never yet 
been surpassed. 

Johannes van Eyk, brother to Hobertus 
van Evk, of Maaseyk : horn 1370, 
died 14'H.' — See theprecedmg. 

Antonio ViTo, of Pistoia, 1400. Works 
in the capitolo of S. Niccola at Pisa, 
which were transf<:rred to him by Star- 
nina, v\ hose pupil he was. 

IMasolino da Panicale, of Panicale, 
1400. Several esiecmed works at Flo- 
rence. A pupi! ;if Starnina. 

Andrea di Giovanni, nf Orvieto, 1405, 
Many works in the cathedral of Or- 

Bartolommeo di Pietro, of Orvieto, 
1405. Many works in tiie cathedral 
of Orvieto. 

Lippo Dalmasi, of Bologna, 1405. 
Many works at Bologna, Feirara, and 

Taddeo Bartoli, of Siena, 1405. Many 
pictures at Siena in the palace dtlla 
Signoria, in S. Agostino, in the Campo 
Santo at Pi<a, and at Arezzo. He was 
the son and pupil of Bartolo de Fredi. 

Galasso Alghisi, of Terrara, 1405. 
Many pictuies at Ferrara, and in other 
cities of Lombardy. 

Chistofouo da f errara, of Ferrara, 
1405. MatiV pictures at Ferrara. 

Antonello di Messina, of Messina, 
1405. Many pictures in Italy, espe- 
cially at Venice and Florence, and 
like\vi>e in Sicily. The fust oil-paint- 
ing seen in Italy was an altar-piece in 
S. Cassiano at Venice, the production 
of his pencil. He was a pupil of Jo- 
hannes van Eyk, and the first Italian 
who brought the art of oil-painting, 
which he learned at Bruges, to Italy. 
ANroNio DI Ferrara, of Ferrara, 1405. 

Many works at Ferrara. 
Ant(jnio ALiuiRTi, of Ferrara, 1405. 

Many works at Ferrara. 
DoMBNico, of Venice, 1405. Many 
works at Venice, Loretn, Perugia, and 
Florence. Of his performances in oil. 



M'hicli were some of ihe earliest oil- 
jpaititings in Italy, a St. Francis and 
St. Dominic, formerly at Florence, are 
highly celcbraled. He was a pupil of 
Autonello di Messina, who instructed 
him in the art of painting in oil. 

Fkancesco da CoTTiGNOLA, of Ferrara, 
lt05. Many works at Ferrara. 

GinoLAMO FiORiNi, of Ferrara, 1105. 
Many works at Ferrara. 

CosiMo TuRRA, of Ferrara, 1420. Many 
works at Ferrara. 

Francesco del Cossa, of Ferrara, 1 420, 
Many works at Ferrara. 

DoMENico Bartoli, of Sicna, 1420: 
IMaiiy works at Siena, and in S. Tri- 
uila at Florence. He was the grand- 
son and pupil of Bartnlo de Fredi. 

Don Lorenzo, of Florence, 1420. Many 
■works in the convent degli Angioli at 
Florence, where he was a monk. He 
was of the school of Taddeo Gaddi, 
and was equally distinguished for 
drawing and colouring. 

P. F^rancesca, of Florence, 1420. Se- 
veral battle-pieces, night-pieces, and 

PiSANO, of S. Vilo, near Verona, 1420. 
Works in S. Anastasia, S. Fermo, S. 
Stefano, &c. at \ ito and Verona. 
Works in the palace of the Doge at 
Venice, in the Lateran at Rome, and 
at Florence. 

Alvaro di Piero, of Florence, 1420. 
Pictures at Florence. 

Marco, of Montepulciano, 1420. Va- 
rious paintings at Montepulciano, Flo- 
rence, and Sicna. He was a pupil of 
Lorenzo di Bicci. 

Paola Uccello, of Florence, 1420. He 
painted many pieces with animals, 
especially birds, and like\\ise land- 
scapes. He was a pupil of Ant. Vine- 
^iano, and was llie first artist who is 
known to have excelled in painting 
animals and landscapes. 

Lorenzo Ghiberti, of Florence, 1120. 
Various paintings on glass, under 
the cupola in the cathedral of Flo- 
rence, and in other edifices in the same 

Vol. II. No. XL 

city, lie excelled in painting upon 

Fra Giovanni daFiesole, of Ficsole, 
1420: born 1387. Miniature-paint- 
ings at Fiesole, and at Flori nee ; a 
Madonna, with the infant Jesus, in the 
Certosa ai Florence; a coronation of 
the Maduuna, and a M.idonna with 
two saints, m the same place. Frc'ico 
paintings in S. Maria Novella, in the 
Capitolo di S. Marco, with m;iiiy por- 
traits, an all ar- piece in the same edi- 
fice, in the Munziala, and in many 
churches, convents, and houses in Flo- 
rence. Many work* in S. Domenico 
at Fiesole, at Oi vieto, at Coriona, and 
particu'arly at Rome, where many 
exquisite pieces by him are to be 
seen in the Vatican. He excelled in 
drawing, colouring, and ccinposiiion. 
His slyie po.ssessed truth, }>!nity, dig- 
nity, an(' expression; and his execu- 
tion is highly finished. He studied even 
in his later years, after the youn;,er 

Gentile da Fabuiano, of Fabriano, 
1420. Many works in the great 
council -house at Venice, at Siena, 
Florence, arul Perugia. He was a 
pupil of Fies'de, whom he almost 
equalled in his works. 

Masaccio da S. Giovanni, of Valdar- 
no, in Tuscany, 1420: born 1402, 
died 144.). An altar-piece « tempera 
in S. Ambrogio, in Florence. Fresco 
paintings in the abbey, in S. Maria 
Novella, in S. Maria Maggioie, and 
in the church del Carmine, at Flo- 
rence. Fresco paintings in the church 
del Carmine at Pisa, and in S. Cle- 
mente at Rome. He was the first 
great Christian painter of modern 
times, through whom the art was ma- 
terially advanced, and whose works 
were particularly .siudied by Fiesole, 
Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, 
and Raphael. 

Neri, of Ilnrence, 1430. Various works 
at Florence. He was the son and pu- 
pil of L(.renzo di Bicci. 
i\i M 



Bicci, of Florence, 1+30. Various 
works at Florence. He was the son 
and pupil of Lorenzo di Bicci. 

Fra FiLippo Lipi'i, of Florence, M-30 ; 
born UOO, died 1470. An aliar-piei e 
in S, Ambrogio at Florence, as also 
in the Camaldulensian convent in the 
same city. Many woi-ks at Rome, 
Fiesole, Spoleto, Perugia, Arezzo, 
Prato, and Pistoia. He studied the 
works of Masaccio. 

Attavante, of Florence. Admirable 
miniature- paintings in Florence, Ve- 
nice, and other cities of llal3^ He 
was the first celebrated niinialure- 

GiAcoMo FiLippo, of Ferrara, 1430. 
Many works at Ferrara, 

Fra Diamante, ol' Florence, 1440, Va- 
rious works at Florence, and particu- 

larly in -the church of the Carmelites 
in Prato. He was a pupil of Filippo 
Lippi, and of disiinguished merit, 

Alessio Baldovinetti, of Fl rence, 
1440. Many works in tresco and oil, 
but especially portiails, animals, and 
landscapes, together with historical 
compositions. He was a pupil of 
Paolo Uccello, and excelled in land- 

Lazzako Vasari, of Arezzo, 1440. 
Many works at Arezzo, Perugia, Sie- 
na^ and Spoleto, chiefly upon glass. 
He was a pupil of Pietro della Fran- 
cesca, and particularly happy in the 
delineation of strong emotions. 

Jacopo del Sellajo, of Florence, 1440. 
Many works at Florence, Pisa, and 
other cities of Tuscany. He was a pu- 
pil of Filippo Lippi. 


Contuinlng authentic Receipts and miscellantous Information in every Branch of 
Domestic Economy, and of general Utility. v J3«;.j; 

my intention to enter into a'fiiedi- 
cal discussion ; but the importance 
of the subject will, I flatter myself, 
be a sufficient apology for the fol- 
lowing lines. 

Wit I) regard to the preservation 
of the eyes, it is certain that there 
is nothing which preserves the sight 
longer, than always using, both in 
reading and writing, that moderate 
degree of light which is best 
suited to the eye; too little light 
strains the sight, too great a quanti- 
ty dazzles it, and the eyes are less 
hurt by the want of light, than by 
tlie excess of it. Too little light, 
if uniformly used, never does any 
harm to the eyes, unless they are 
strained by eflbrts to see objects to 
which the deuiiee^of lierht is4nade- 
quate; but too great a quantity of 
light has, by its own power, de- 
stroyed the-sight. Thus rimii}^ haV«i 


There is no branch of popular 
knowledge of which it is more im- 
portant that every individual should 
know something, than that whicii 
treats of the various imperfections 
of siglit, or how to preserve tiieej-es. 

Though it may be impossible 
to prevent the absolute decay of 
.sight, whether arising from age, 
partial disease, or illness; yet b}' 
prudence and good management 
the natural failure of sight may 
certainly be retarded, and the ge- 
neral habit of the eyes strength- 
ened. In attempting to say some- 
tliing with regard to the rules for 
fhe preservation of sight, it is not 



brought on themselves blindness, 
by siidclen and frequent exposure 
to a viviti or dazzling- lij^ht; others 
liave injured their sit^ht, witliout 
being aware of it, by frequently 
and daily passinisr from a dark j)lace 
into bright daylight. How hurt- 
lul the looking upon luminous ol)- 
jects is to the sight, becomes evi- 
dent from its effects in those coun- 
tries which are covered the greater 
]iart of the year with snow, where 
blindness is exceedingly frequent, 
and where the traveller is oblitred 
to cover his eyes vritli crape, to 
prevent the dangerous and often 
sudden eHects of too much liirht. 
Even the untutored savage tries to 
avoid the danger, by framing little 
wooden cases for his eyes, with only 
two narrow slits. 

Before I proceed to state a few 
general maxims, necessary for the 
l)reservation of sight, I shall men- 
tion the following cases, which are 
so applicable to the present article 
as to want no apology for their in- 
sertion here; though, if any were 
necessary, the use they will pro- 
liahly be of to those whose com- 
plaints arise from the same and 
similar causes, would, I presume, 
be more than sufficient for that 

A lady from the country coming 
to reside in St. James's square, was 
afilicted with a pain in the eyes, 
and a decay of sight. She could 
not look upon the stones when the 
sun shone upon them, without great 
pain. Tiiis, which she thought was 
one of the symptoms of her disor- 
der, was the real cause of it. Her 
eyes, which had been accustomed 
to the verdure of the country, and 
the green of the pasture-ground 
before her bouse, could not bear 

the violent and unnatural glare of 
light reflected from the stones. She 
was advised to place a nund)er of 
small green shrubs in the windows, 
so that their foliage and tops might 
hitle the pavement and be in a line 
with the eye. She received be- 
nefit from this simple change in 
the light, though her eyes were 
before on the verge of little less 
than blindness. And farther: 

A gentleman of the law had his 
lodgings in Pall-Mali, on the north 
side; his front windows were ex- 
posed to the full noon, while the 
back parlour, having no opening 
but into a small closcyard surround- 
ed with high walls, was dark: he 
wrote in the back room, and used 
to come from that into the front to 
breakfast, &c. His sight grew 
weuk, and he had a constant pain 
in the balls of his eyes ; he tried 
spectacles, and advised v.ith ocu- 
lists, cquall)' in vain. Being soon 
convinced, that coming suddenly 
out of his dusky study into the full 
daylight very often in the day, 
had been the real cause of the dis- 
order, he took new lodgings, by 
which, and forbearing to write by 
candle-light, he was soon cured. 

Other instances might be men- 
tioned where persons, living in 
dark rooms, and whose employment 
obliged them to come frequently in 
the course of the day to a window 
which admitted the direct light of 
the sun, acquired a weak siglit by 
this unexpected cause only. 

From these facts it becomes evi- 
dent, that those who have weak 
eyes shoultl be particularly at- 
tentive to the circumstances just 
stated. The following rules may 
be laid down as general maxims to 
preserve the siszht : — 

M M 2 



1. Never sit for any length of 
time either in absolute gloom, or 
exposed to a blaze of light. The 
reason on which tliis rule is found- 
ed, proves the impropriety of going 
hastily from one extreme to the 
other, whether of darkness or of 
light, and shows us that a southern 
aspect is improper for those whose 
sight is weak and tender. 

2. Avoid reading small print, 
and straining the eyes by looking 
at minute objects. 

3. Do not read in the dusk, nor, 
if the eyes be disordered, b}' can- 
dle-light. Happy those who learn 
this lesson betimes, and begin to 
preserve their sight before they are 
reminded by pain of tlie necessity 
of sparing it. The frivolous at- 
tention to a quarter of an hour of 
the evening, has cost numbers the 
perfect and comfortable iise of 
their eyes for many years : the mis- 
cliief is eiffected imperceptibly, and 
the consequences are inevitable. 

4. Do not permit the eyes to 
dwell on glaring objects, more par- 
ticularly on first waking in a morn- 
ing: the sun should not of course 
be suffered to shine in the room at 
that time, and a moderate quantity 
of light only be admitted. It is easy 
to see that, for the same reasons, 
the furniture, walls, and other ob- 
jects of a bed -room, should not be 
altogether of a white or glaring 
colour ; indeed those whose eyes 
are weak, would find considerable 
advantage in having green for the 
furniture and prevailing colour of 
their bedchamber. Nature con- 
firms the propriety of this fact ; 
for the light of the day comes on 
by slow degrees, and green is the 
■universal colour vvliich she presents 
tb our eyes. 

5. Those individuals who are ra- 
ther long-sighted, should accustom 
themselves to read with less light, 
and with the book somewhat nearer 
to the eye than what they naturally 
like; while others, that are rather 
short-sighted, should use them- 
selves to read with the book as far off 
as possible. By these means both 
will improve and strengthen theit 
sight, while a contrary course in- 
creases its natural imperfections. 

Such are the general rules, which 
cannot fail to preserve the sight ; 
and blindness, or at least miserable 
weakness of sight, is often brought 
on by neglect of these unsuspected 
causes. The prevention of this ma- 
lady is easy, but the cure may be 
difticult,and perhaps impracticable. 
General Rules for the Choice of Spec- 
tacles^ and Method of judging when 
the Ei/esight mai/ be assisted and 
preserved Oi/ Glasses. 
To detail those circumstances 
which are in general marks of ad- 
vancing age, and always of partial 
infirmity, must be ever unpleasant, 
and would be equally unnecessary-, 
if it were not the means of lessen- 
ing the inconveniencies attendant 
on those stages of life. Increasing 
years have a natural tendency to 
bring on an impaired sight, and 
earlier among those who have made 
the least use of their eyes in their 
youth. But whatever care be taken 
of the sight, the decay of nature 
cannot be prevented. To relieve 
the organ of sight, which is the 
source of the most refined pleasure, 
is therefore certainly a desirable 
object. To enable persons w!io are 
in want of assistance, to determine 
vv! ether spectacles will be advan- 
tageous or detrimental, and what 
kind will best suit their sight, and 



to instruct those who aheady use 
glasses, that they may discover wlie- 
iher the spectacles they have chosen 
are adapted to the imperfection of 
their sight, or are such as will in- 
crease their complaint and weaken 
their eyes, are subjects worthy of the 
consideration of every individual. 

The most general and perhaps 
the best rule that can be <iiven to 
those .vho are in want of assistance 
from glasses, in order to their chu- 
sing such spectacles as may suit the 
state of their eyes, is to prefer those 
glasses which shew objects nearest 
their natural state, lieither enlarged 
nor diminished, the glasses being 
near the eye, and that give a black- 
ness, sharpness, and distinctness 
to the letters of a book, neither 
straining the eye, nor causing any 
unnatural exertion of it : for no 
spectacles can be said to be pro- 
perly accommodated to the eyes, 
which do not procure them case 
and rest. If the spectacles fatigue 
the eyes, we may safely conclude, 
either that we have no occasion for 
them, or that they are ill made, or 
not proportioned to our sight: and 
though in the choice of sj)ectacles 
every one must finally determine 
for himself which are the glasses 
tlirouoh which he obtains the most 
distinct vision, yet some confidence 
should also be placed in the judg- 
uient of the skilful optician of whom 
they are purchased, and some at- 
tention paid to his directions. 

An advanced age, it rcniains to 
be stated, is by no means an abso- 
lute criterion by vvhicli we can de- 
cide upon the sigh.t, nor will it prove 
tlie necessity of wearing spectacles : 
for, on the one hand, there are 
many individuals whose sight is 
preserved in all its vigour to an 

advanced old age; while, on the 
other hand, the sight may be im- 
paired in ytJUth by a variety of 
causes, or vitiated by disease. Nor 
is the defect either the same in 
different persons of the same age, 
or in the same persons at different 
ages ; in some the failure is natural, 
in others it is acquired by various 
circumstances, which it is unneces- 
sary to detail. But from whatever 
causes the decay of sight arises, an 
attentive consideration of the fol- 
lowing rules will enable any one 
to judge for himself, when his eye- 
sight may be assisted or preserved 
by the use of proper glasses. 

1. When we are obliged to re- 
move small objects to a considera- 
ble distance from the eye in order 
to see them distinctly. 

2. If we find it necessar}^ to get 
more light than formerly; as, for 
instance, to place the candle be- 
tween the eye and tiie ol)ject. 

3. If on looking at and atten- 
lively considering a near object, it 
fatigues the eye and becomes con- 
fused, or if it appears to have a 
kind of dimness or mist before it. 

4. When the letters of a small 
printareseen torun intoeach other, 
and hence, by looking steadfastly 
on them, appear douMe or treble. 

5. If the eyes are so fatigued by 
a little exercise, that we are obli- 
ged to shut them from time to time, 
so as to relieve theui by looking at 
different objects. 

When all these circumstances 
concur, or any of them separately 
takes place, it will be necessary to 
seek assistance from glasses, which 
will ease the eyes, and in some de- 
gree check their tendency to be- 
come worse: whereas if they be 
not assisted in time, the weakness 



will be coniidera!)ly increased, and 
the eyes be impaired by tbe efforts 
they are compelled to exert. 

It is therefore evident that spec- 
tacles can only be said to be pre- 
servers of the sight, or recommend- 
ed as such, to those whose eyes are 
actually beginning to fail ; and that 
it would be as absurd to advise the 
use of spectacles to those wiio feel 
none of the foregoing inconve- 
iiiencies, as it would be for a man 
in health to use crutches to save 
his legs. 


A beautiful gold-coloured pow- 
der has long l)een known in the 
arts, under the name of bronze 
powder, or mosaic go/ri, and is chiefly i 
prepared at Nuremberg, in Ger- j 
many, wliere tlie process is said to 
be kept a secret. It is met with 
in commerce of different colours, 
and always is in the {"orm of a scaly | 
powder, very soft aiid glossy to 
the touch, readily rubbed down 
between the fingers, and when the 
colour is brought out by a little; 
friction, it has a fine golden me- j 
tallic lustre. It is chiefly used for i 
giving a bronze colour to figures i 
of plaster of Paris, in japanning, 
in varnish-painting, and lor other 
ornamental purposes. As most of 
the receipts that have been given 
by different authors for preparing , 
this article, are but ill suited to 
ensure success, we shall here lay 
beforeour readers the best and most 
economical method for obtaining it. 

Take 12 oz. of grain tin ; 7oz. of 
flower of sulphur; muriate of am- 
monia and quicksilver,of each 6oz. : 
melt. the tin by itself,. and when 
cpoled a little, pour into it the 
quicksilver; and when the amal- 

gam thus produced is cold, let it 
be rubbed to powder, mix it with 
the sulphur and muriate of ammo- 
nia, and sublime the whole in a 
glass flask on a sand-bath. Apply 
a gentle fire for some time, till the 
white fumes which issue from the 
orifice of the flask begin to cease; 
then raise the heat till the sand be- 
comes red hot ; and keep the heat at 
that point, neither increasing nor 
diminishing it, for a considerable 
time, according to tiie quantity of 
the materials. The matrass when 
cold, if broken, will afford a beau^Y 
tiful mass of gold bronze. A good;» 
deal of care is required in this pro- 
cess with regard to the manage-j 
ment of the heat : if the fire is too , 
slack, no bronze will be formed ; 
and if urged beyond a moderate,, 
redness, tlie product will haveadull,>, 
chrty appearance, and be without 
lustre. It is tiot absolutely neces- ; 
sary that the operation be performed j 
in a glass flask, it may be.doneas<| 
well in a crucible. To make 10 or.'t 
12 lbs. of it, requires about eight/ 
hours. /ornsi ifbr 

Preparulion of SUter Bronze. 

This metallic compound, which i* 
in the form of extremely minute 
Silvery flakes, is used as a pig-:; 
ment, for giving a silver metallicB 
lustre to plaster casts, metal, papeiv^- 
&c. It is prepared in the follow*.i| 
ing manner : — n 

Take 3oz. of grain tin, and the 
same quantity of bismuth; melt' 
them together in a crucible or iron-:; 
ladle, and stir the alloy till a com- 
plete union has been obtained. 
Then take the crucible out of the 
fire, and when the fused mass be- 
gins to solidify, pour into it 3oz. 
of quicksilver .previously boated, 
and stir the mass togetlier..,} hbij 3?'- 



Previously to usin<^ this amalgam, I 
it must be ground on a stone or i 
Wedgwood's mortar, with the white j 
of egg and spirit-varnish, and in i 
this state applied to the intended 
work. \V hen dry it may be l>nr- j 
nished in the usual manner, and | 
has then very much the appearance 
of silver. 

process has been employed on a 
paper written on \\ ith common ink, 
or printed with printer's ink, it 
will experience no alteration. 


After having gently warmed the 
paper soiled with grease, wax, oil, 
or any other fatty body whatever, 
lake out as much as possible of it 
by means of blotting-paper ; then 
tiip a small brush in rectified oil of 
lemons or turpentine*, previously 
warmed, and draw it gently over boiii 
sides of the paper, which must be 
carefully kept warm. This operation 
may be repeated as many times as 
the quantity of the fat body imbibed 
by the paper, or the thickness of 
the paper, may render necessary. 
When the greasy substance is en- 
tirely removed, recourse may be 
had to the following method to 
restore the paper to its former 
vviiiteness, if not completely re- 
stored by the first process: — Dip 
another brush in a mixture of one 
part by bulk, of sulphuric ether, and 
two of alcohol, and draw it in like 
manner over the place that was 
stained, and particularly round the 
edges, to remove the border tliat 
may s»ill exist as a stain. By em- 
ploying these means, with pro- 
per caution, the spots will totally 
disappear; the paper will resume 
its original wliitcness; and if the 

* The article sold' in 'ilie shops iinder 
the name of fcniniiiz' dihpx, is nothing 
ebe than oil'e*'ileaicrrts«!i:J4fli dUJ n^^iHi' 


Though it is certain tliat earth- 
wormsoccasion great destruction by 
gnawing the tender filaments of the 
roots of shrubs and j)lants ; and that 
other insects, such as caterpillars, 
&,c. are exceedingly huriful both to 
the fields and gardens, few persons 
have given themselves liie trouble to 
devise any remedy fortius evil. As 
the destructive power of quick- 
lime, with an alcali, when applied 
to orjranic matter, has been lonir 
known, this substance has been 
proved the cheapest and most ef- 
fectual to destroy those animals, 
A weak solution of common pearl- 
ash rendered caustic by slaked 
quick-lime, and formed into a fiuid 
of the consistence of milk, need 
only be poured into those lioles in 
which the earth-worms rv side under 
ground; the effect of which will 
be, that the animal will immediately' 
throw itself out of its abode, and, 
after various contortions, either 
languish or die. If the leaves of 
plants or fruit-trees frequented by 
caterpillars be sprinkled over wiili 
a diluted liquor of this kind, the 
insects suddenly contract their bo- 
dies and drop to the ground : for 
though nature has defendeil them 
toleraiily "ell by a covering of hairs 
from any thing that might injure 
their delicate bodies, yet, as soon 
as they touch with their feet or 
mouth, leaves which have been 



moistened by thisiiqiiQr, tbeybe^jise^iv^ate^, compress it gradually ^ill, 

come as it were, stupified, 4i>sj§ut^; 
Jy contracting tbemselveiSjaaAdtfaili 
down. <; ■. ^ -,.- V ' 

With regard to tl>e vegetable 
substances to whicii a dilute solu- 
tion ot" the caustic alcaliis brought 
into contact, it will be proved jthat 
they suffer no injury. The fluid 
should be applied during a dry 
season. It niuy be prepared by 
dissolving one part of American 
pearl-ash or pot-ash, or common 
subqarbonate of pot-asli or soda, 
or the impure alcali called grey 
salt, in 20 parts of water, and add- 
irtg, to the mixture four -parts rof;, 
shdked quick-lime, and a sufficient 
qiiantity of water to f*)rm a fluid of 
tUte,. consistence of u\m cres^n^j^^-ri 
The want of pearl-ash may-be sup- 
plied by tight or ten times the 1 
quantity of common weod^ashea^ 

nsiJw »F fj^-(CHfiESEi'^}grn8'> ntl 9fi 
-The Stilton cheese, which nfray 

|it.l)as «wjqDire<l a firm consistence,j,> 
tlien- place it in a wooden hoop, 
a^d suf^prTjijt :to dry very gradually 
6n.i^bflard^.taking care, at the same 
timcy to tnrn it daily with close 
benders ronnd it, and which must 
be lightened as the cheese acquir^^; 
Hjore solidity^. , , ,^/{ 

The qelebrated cream-cheese ofj 
Liflcolosliir^is made by adding the-; 
cream of one meal's milk, to milk^ 
which conaes immediately from the; 
cowjrj I, tUpseiari^ pressed gently tw%„ 
or three times, turned for a few 
days, and disposed for sale, to be 
eaten while new, with radishes, ssU^. 

lad, &c. .j^if 


ELE; BLACK ENAMEL, -f, ,• ;; 

It i« well know-n that aU the rich 
articles of silver platebrought from 
Persia and India are ornamented 
with a beautiful glossy black ena- 
iragl, which very neatly fills up the 
engraved ornaments of the articles.- 
The process practised for that pur- 

be called the Parmesan of England, 
ist^iiot confined to Stilton ^Bdijtsj pose by the Indian, and of late also 
vicinity, for many farmers in Hunt- I by the Russian jewellers, i.i^.iljhe 
ingdonbiHre,andalsoin Rutlandand I following :— ■ J-— v'Ov 

Northamptonshire, make a simribtrJ| They take foz. of silver, 2| oZf, 
sort, sell them for the same price, ! of copper, 3|;OZ. of lead, 12 oz. of: 

an<i give tiiem the name of Stilton 
cheeses; and there is no d®ubt ^hat 
the inhabitants of other counHes 
might make as good cheese .as.- that _ 
of. Stiltony-i-f they -would adh^jretWi 
the right plan, which is this:-— =■ ■. 
T^ake the night's cream and put .- 
it to the morning's new milk, with 
the rennet; when the curd is se- 
parated, let it not be broken, as is^; 
done with other cheese, bat take it 
out, disturbing it as little as possi- 
ble, and suffer it to dry very gra- 
dually in a sieAf« j'lindas the whey ^ 

sulphur, and 2| oz. of muriate of 
ammonia. These substances are 
melted together, and the mass, 
poured into a crucible whioh has^^ 
l>€en previotisly filled with p«lve-rj 
rized sulphur. The crucible i§ then- 
immedialely covered, andJtlt^ mass, 
when cold, is. again expo^4 ^^■ 
heatj to drive oii' the super^uous, 
quantity !©f> stjlpbur. wbiQli^Uas i>oV 
c om hi n ^d ; ^^i^s\,x :i\m mel^llic- -c^ooj-^j* 
; ;p Ht? d . T 1^ aum ate.qf 1 &m.rppjD i a j^ 
if ^cou rse n(H,;<*«iiy •d-Qcfui} pM?^ J^Mfc 
al$Q volatiiige^ duf ipg)t^i^pr^«S% 



Tlie mass obtained, which is a true 
supcr-sulpliiiret of the metals em- 
ployed, is then coarsely pulverized, 
and with a solution of muriate of 
ammonia formed into a paste, which 
is rni)l>ed in the engraved orna- 
ments of the silver. The article is 
then wiped clean, and suffered to 
become so hot under a muffle, that 
the substance rubbed into the cuts 
made in the silver by the en- 
graver, melts, and chemically com- 
bines with the metal. The silver is 
afterwards wetted with the solution 
of muriate of an)monia, and asain 
placed under a muffle till it be- 
comes red hot; and, lastly, the en- 
graved surface is polished, and the 
substance let into the enin-aved 
surface exhibits the colour and so- 
lidity of a fine black glossy ejiamel, 
which suflPers no change by age. 


Gunpowder, by reason of the 
nitre which enters into its compo- 
iition having been partially de- 
prived of its water of crystalliza- 
tion, and the known attraction of 
charcoal for humidity, is always 
somewhat disposed to deliquesce; 
and although it does not actually 
liquefy, or become unfit for souteof 
the purposes to which it is applica- 
ble, yet for those of the sportsman, 
to whom the quickness of its com- 
munication is of the highest conse- 
quence, it is generally in a state 
very inferior to what it would be 
found if a greater degree of care 
was taken in its preservation. It 
is oidy when it has received but a 
very slight injury from damp, that 
the mischief is capable of a reme- 
dy ; when once ii has become at all 
concreted, drying it will no longer 
restore its power. The nitre will 
FpI. II. No. XI. 

be found, on examination with a 
magnifier, to he crystallized, and 
the strength and quickness of the 
powder are considerably and per- 
manently impaired, probably even 
before this symptom has appeared. 
It is evident that no vessel is suffi- 
ciently close to prevent this cir- 
cumstance from taking place, but 
such as is perfectly air-iight. 
There cannot ()crh:ips be a much 
stronger proof of the insufficiency 
of the packages in general use for 
this purpose, than the opinion of a 
consideralde dealer in liiis article, 
to whom the matter was lately men- 
tioned. He said he was convinced 
that powder would be found to 
" give" in some states of the 
weather, though the vessel which 
contained it was ever so close: a 
notion which may perhaps have 
contributed to prevent the adop* 
tio-n of more effectual means. He 
added, that it is found to do so in 
the tin canisters as much as when 
packed in brown paper. The re- 
medy is, however, extremeU' easy. 
Nothing more is necessary than to 
cut off the communication with the 
atmosphere: an}' vessel in which 
chemists keep muriate of lime, 
acetate of pot-ash, or common salt 
of tartar, dry, will of course keep 
gunpowder in the same state of 
perfection as when first inclosed. 
For a quantity not exceeding a 
pound, w!<ich is not intended to be 
frequently removed from phice to 
place, common ten or twelve-ounce 
phials ansaer extremely well ; and 
if half a dozen of them be put into 
a case, there cannot perha|)s be a 
more convenient magazine. They 
shouhl be filled as full as possible, 
and the powder well corked up at 
the necks, the corks being tied 




over u'itli bladder and tinibil. As, 
however, iliere might be some dan- 
ger of explosion from the accident- 
al fr.-icture of one of these, if this 
method were to be adopted for 
large quantities, it would, in that 
case, be necessary to use some other 
material than glass; and if instead 
of t'ne slide now inserted into the 
tin canister, a turned pewter neck, 
like that of a common phial, and 
capable of being likewise stopped 
with a small cork, were soldered 
into the top, and in order to get 
out the contents, that it should be 
l^t into a semi- cylindrical liollow in 
thesideoftiie canister : when cork- 
ed up, the top of liie cork might be 
cut off, and tlie whole a()erture 
covered vvitli a plaster of thick dry- 

ing paint, or wax and turpentine 
spread on a piece of tinfoil. None 
of the flasks, the best of wliich are 
those of copper or tin, are fit for 
preserving the powder longer than 
when in use; during which the 
charger should be kept corked — a 
precaution the effects of which will 
be found considerable, 

There are some, perhaps, who 
may not conceive these remarks to 
be very n)aterially conducive to the 
general reader, but he to whom it 
has frequently happened to miss 
an excellent cross shot, from his 
powder hanging fire — quccque ip&e 
mi.serrima villi — will scarcely con- 
sider this as the least important ar- 
ticle in tlie Novepiiber Ueposilonj, 


' !o 


Bj/ Madame de Genus. 

Mary, daughter of Francis II. j considered, do not hold princes re- 
ef Medi(is,Grand-DukeofTusca- sponsible for the faults of their 
ny, and wife of Henry the Great, , ministers, when they have chosen 
was born at Florence in 1600. Tiie them through motives of public 

imperious, jealous, and ambitions 
character of Mary, caused all her 
misfortunes; with a more liberal 
mind, she might have acted a great 
part after the death of Henry IV.: 
she had courage and dignity, if not 
in her character, at least in her 
ideas — useless or dangerous qua- 
lities in a princess -regent who 

utility; but they do not excuse 
them when a favourite, without 
merit or abilities, is elevated, be- 
cause they suppose that the sove- 
reign has acted less for the interest 
of the state, than to gratify a per- 
sonal affection, which, in this case, 
is always a culpable, and often a 
ridiculous weakness. The Presi- 

wants discrimination and under- ]j dent Henault iias made use of a 
standing. Mary wished to govern, || striking and terrible expression 
but had not capacity; slie n!isj)la- 'j conceriiing this queen, notwith- 
ced her confidence, and the liatred j standing it^e moderation of his jaii- 
excited by her friends was extend- i guage. " She did not appear,'' 
ed to herself. Th.e people, more j says he, "either surprised or .^f- 
equitable than they are generally || flicted enough at the tragic death 



of one of our rjrcatrst kings.'" 'J'IrfS 
is all that history, in the ahsoitfe 
of proofs, normiitptl him to say ; it 
pnght to be added, rhai tht? whrtJe 
life of l\I;iry de INJcdicis s^-rrehs 
l)cr from a suspicion which makes 
■OS shudder. If she had been a 
premeditated areoinplice i'> the 
most horrible of assassinations, IS 
it likely that lisis wouhi h^N^'lyren 
her only crime? Mary, hy permi't- 
tinrr herself to be o'overned for a 
long time by the Marshal (rA!ifre 
and his wife, lost the public love 
and the confidcnceof her son. 'ibis 
marshal, when ordered to bcarrrst- 
ed by Louis, was killed in attempt- 
ing to defend himself. It is well 
known that his corpse was il;:g up 
hy ilie populace, draggetl through 
tiie sire».ts,and cut into a iLonsand 
pieces; that his intestines were 
thrown into ih.e Seine, and the rest 
of his boily burnt upon the I'ont- 
Neuf; that a man tore out his 
heart, had it cooked, and ate it 
publicly; and that this acticni was 
applauded by an innumerable mul- 
titude. The deatli of the unfortu- 
nate marshal, and the punishment 
of his wife, extinguisiicd the civi! 
war. Mary was exiled to Blois, 
whetice she escaped to Atigoulemc. 
Uiclielieu, then Bisliop of Ln(^on, 
and afterwards cardinal, reconciled 
the mother and son. Mar}*, dissa- 
tisfied at the hon-pcrformancc of 
tlie treaty, rekindled the war; she 
was sooiv obliged to submit; but 
th^ king's favourite, the Constable 
dc Liiyne;^, att enemy of the queen, 
died, and Mat^ Regained her inllu- 
eiifcc't^t-er Hre rnind of the weak 
L6ur'^'>:nT."^S'be eUu«^ed her sit- 
p^iVilt^ttdWyf, :^ic^her*eu,' to be :ii\- 
mi iiif-.l 'ri-f f 6' Wircdd^iiiil . ' STi'e 'pi^fe'- 
t ei)'(¥ed ' 1^3^ \-e v^ii ih r o'lrg'h \?i m , an d 

f . 

RicheHen wislscd lo govern f^-JPthti 
good of thesti^te, unii for tbc glory 
f>t''KrArtce.' The ingratiiude of l\:i- 
fh't^liV^u has been severely cen- 
s'ured 5 but does gratitude retpiire 
(Vortj a minister the sacrifice of his 
mulerstanding ? Mar}' complained 
and tiirt-atened ; she resoiied to 
ruin the friend who refustd to he- 
■com^ her creature; but the genius 
of Richelieu was capable of defeat- 
ing all the intrigues of malice, ha- 
ired, and and)ition. The cardnial 
used every endeavour to soften the 
unjust resentment of tiie queen ; 
hut finding that she was in!]eKibl(^, 
and was now become his implaca- 
ble enemy, he directed his thonghis 
to her removal for ever from court. 
But, after having already exhaust- 
ed all the arguments which couKl 
induce the king to be reconciled 
to even a guilty parent, atnl after 
having detailed and spoken so 
highly of the sacred rights of a mo- 
ther and the duties of filial piety, 
how could Ite prevail on Louis to 
banish this same c.ueen ? At this 
critical period Richelieu had re- 
course to a most artful expedient. 
A secret council was assembled, iri 
which the cardinal spoke at great 
length; he began by owning, that 
the invincible enmity of tlie queen 
to him took away all his liopes of 
restoring internal tranquillity: hie 
added, tliat a sovereign could not 
iyalanee between his mother and 
liis hiinister ; that he expected' to 
be sacrificed ; that he consented to 
it; that he tendered his resigna- 
tion; that he felt but one regret, 
tiiat'{)f leaving the state in so cri- 
tical a situation. He aftei-wards 
(Vr^'^ so li'c'el}' and striking a pic- 
tiit^ of tbc daiiGcers wliicdi threat- 
tVi'ed Fi-ance, that Louis XIIL na- 
N N 2 


ni: nvfi- 


turally concluded, that he who 
could soably develope all theevils 
he had to fear, could alone prevent 
them. It was then unaniinously 
resolved to remove the queen, at 
least tor a time. She was permit- 
ted to chuse her place of residence ; 
and all those who had been attach- 
ed to her, were either exiled or 
confined in the Bastille. These 
persecutions were odious and in- 
discreet: true policy is always ge- 
nerous; it ought to have all the 
forms of justice and of greatness, 
because it is the expression of the 
principles of the morality aad of 
the sentiments of the prince. These 
arbitrary measures were of benefit 
to the cause of Mary. She was 
now regarded as an oppressed 
queen and mother. Louis XIII. 
published a declaration, addressed 
to the parliaments and governors 

■: of the provinces, to justify his con- 
duct and that of his minister ; in 
which step he lowered himself, and 
. sliewed the last degreeof weakness. 

•..•A^good king ought to account to 

» his subjects for the motives of a 
war, or any great political actio-n, 
but he ouglit to throw a veil over 

domestic alttiirs; he is wanting in 
dignity wh.en he gives ari useless 
publicity to wiiat passes in his fa- 

"'■'^liliilyv Louis could not justify his 

-'^ V<*ving removed his mother froiii 
cQiirt, and confining her, without 
complaining heavily of her; and 
that alone is a fault which causes 

' very few to give credit to thejusti- 
fication. In short, if Louis XIII. 
had known his duty and his privi- 
leges, he would have respected his 

' Hkother, and assumed the royal au- 
thority without uoisq or confusion. 
Mary, detainetl- ill Compiegne, 
Bseaped, and retired tu BrasseUin 

i63L^ From that time she neither 
saw her- son nor Paris, which she 
had embellished with nionumetits 
that perpetuate her memory. A 
troublesome and jealous wife, an 
ambitious mother and regent, a 
violent, vindictive, and imprudent 
princess, Mary worthily maintain- 
ed the glory of the nan)e of Medi- 
cis, so dear to the Muses and to the 
friends of the arts. The beautiful 
palaceoftheLuxembourg was built 
by her orders; she caused superb 
aqueducts (works till her time un- 
known in France) to be erected, 
and founded monasteries. To her 
we are indebted for the promenade 
which still bears the name of Cours 
de la Heine, and for the admirable 
gallery of pictures painted by Ru- 
l)ens, which contains, among other 
master-pieces, that in which Mi- 
nerva advises Henry the Great to 
unite himself with Mary, and that 
representing Mary just before the 
birth of Louis XIII. Mary pro- 
tected the father of French poetry ; 
she knew how to appreciate the 
verses of Malherbe^ This princess, 
the widow of Henry the Great, the 
mother of a king of France^ mother- 
in-law of two kings, and grand- 
mother of Louis the Great, xiied in 
indigence at Cologne, July, 3, 164-2. 
The dread iul privations to which 
this unhappy princess was riediiced 
during the last years oi her life, 
will always bean indelible stain on 
the character of Louis XI M. We 
can scarcely conceive, that:{iaite- 
pendently of all filial affection)' a 
sovereign, a king of France, could 
have so little generosit^^tfeuo per- 
mit his mother to remain in su^h a 
situation. This monstrous deser- 
tion is as injurious leo, she re'gal 
character, as revolting t{>i>atUFe4 



Tlie prelate Chiiri,'«Weii ndhoib, ipfectly natural. Mary admired de- 
' and afterwards po|ie, by rhc imme I vict's; slie had taken in 1008 a Juno 
>'of Altixaiider VII. was with Mary ; ieaninj^ upon her peacock, witli 
/wheTi on her death -bed, and asked I these words, Firo partuque beata. 
.'viher if she pardoned lier enemies, ! After tlie deatii of Henry iV. she 

tespecially the C'ardinal de lliche- 
>'Jieu. She answered, *' Yesywith 
all my heart." The nuncio pro- 
posed to her to send to the cardi- 
snal, as a mark of her entire forgive- 
.! ness, a bracelet vvliich she wore on 

took a pelican opening her bosom 
for her young, and this motto, Te- 
git virtide miuores. The passions 
of this princess were so violent, 
that her anger became madness: 
it is said she wept with such vehe- 

iher arm. The queen replied, ' mence, that her tears did not flow, 
n^'^That is too great a condesceia- 'but. started forth in a fri<jhtful 
"sion :" an answer which at any u tnannerg lo s ..; , ^aiK,'t 

^i-Other time would have been per- ^ ^ :,j iioi^soiq/.;^ ;. o^aad 

IQil o ■ : sbiTOoi ' I, I ii );tpri 'piiaioi-i i juiiq 

,. MISCELLANIES. ' rtrdi« 

sidiiijmtji. iS'.ss'A v> r-'s»-^ ib o* 

rfidjo ;Linci'.'. . A recent Discovery in the Pliilosopliy of the Fine Arts. •"■ M'i')up 

IVl thid' jVi^,,j.^ ,,j,p,.^ are btirtit'^w^, UsiUixt^aDdjf'^'^'-^ • '['^"'^ 

OJ iay.'} fetaiuls tipioe oil tlie inisty uiomitaiirs top.— '—SitAKSPEARE. 'I 

j.iiu'iQN the last day of the celebrated 
sJExuiBiTioN of Dutch and Fle- 
-4W1SH Pictures at the Bimtish I^;- 

ers of this collection. The f©\v 
persons who still remained in the 
rooms discovered them at tlie same 

*TlTUTlON,l remained watchingthe 1] moment that I did; one of whom 

osolemnity of their effectas the gloom j 
,yofthe evening advanced. I reflected J 
^On the lasting fame of tiie 0/d Alas- i 

instantly threw himself upon his 
knees before the IjIocIc figure, and 
endeavoured to catch hold of his 

ters whose works hung around me, robe. — " Permit me," he crjetl, 

landimaginedhowgratifylngitmust !j "most sublime spirit, to penetrate 

ti 1)6 to the Spirits of these Great Men, I the gloom that surrounds thee t 

,Vto be permitted to witness the ad- h But, alas! wl^at mortal eyehaspow- 

iijniration still bestowed upon them. 
ir Whether I uttered this tl.oughtor 
,- not, I cannot say ; but inunediately 

er to enter into the profomid abyss 
o^'thy genius, or to obtain even a 
gliiDpse of that mysterious world 

ija voice near uie exclaimed, in a jl which , darkness a-lone i/A<"ii'^es.-''*' 
i»'tiollow tone, "Mighty gratifying L.This speech was suddenly inter- 
--trnlyl" I turned, and saw a /R«i>;e ,i rupted by a horse-laugh from the 
£ figure wrapped in an old black silk ' whole troop of ghosts, which. I 
i.iinantle, lined with fur, standing J thought would nevur have ended. 
- before the pictureof TVif? n'/.se.'l/p//\s j; Rembrandt seemed to enjoy it aft 
. Opering. It was Rembrandt him- !i heartily as any of the rest, and ac-« 

seUV surrounded by a group of 1 tuallv set u[) a shout asthe aaio- 
.yiOther figures, whom I immediately ■ nisluxi Cufinoiifeur retreated to the 

perceived i^.li». the princi^jal paint- tj siajicase and made his escgpe*. : 



The part)' now separated, and as 
they sauntered about the rooms, I 
was particularly struck by the mo- 
dest air and pleasant countenance 
of Teniers, who ran round to all 
his own pictures, and at last fixed 
himself before No. 102. A young 
man ventured to approach and look 
at it with him. "Well, sir," said 
Teniers, turning sharply round, 
*' what is your opinion of tliis pic- 
ture?"— "I think," he replied, 
" that it possesses much of the true 
character and humour of our ad- 
mirable Hogarth." — "You do me 
great honour indeed," replied the 
ghost : " but pray tell, me what you 
think it wants." — " It would be a 
daring attempt, sir, in me, and an 
ungrateful one too," he answered, 
"to seek for imperfections in those 
works which have always aiTorded 
me the highest examples of excel- 
lence, and whose beauties first in- 
spired me with a love of the art 
itself." — " Flattery, my friend," 
interrui)ted Teniers, " is too light 
food even for a ghost. I assure 
you, the great source of our hap- 
piness in this after-life, of which 
yours is but the sliadow, is, to be- 
come sensible of the errors of our I 
former existence; and whenever! 
we revisit this mortal scene, it is [ 
to enjoy the delight of seeing that ! 
our successors have not only pro- I 
fited by our example, but freed j 
themselves from our prejudices." — I 
"Pardon me, generous spirit," re- 
plied the young man, "a reserve 
which even living artists do not re- 
quire; from their youth upward 
making it their guiding principle 
to be sincere to themselves, and to 
solicit and expose themselves to 
every species of criticism and to 
every test of truth." — "Speak, then, 

to me," said the Spirit, "as you 
would to an artist of your own day 
who askedyour opinion of his work: 
what deficiency is there in this pic- 
ture?" — "I will tell you then free- 
ly, Teniers," said he, " and I have 
no doubt you will agree with me : 
it wants the effect of day-light."— 
" Bless me, I meant it for sunshine." 
— "I see you did. But, pray, was 
there no clear «57cy in your days ? and 

did not THE BRO.'iD lU.UE LIGHT OF 

THK ATMOSPHERE shine then as it 
does now ? It is this, which I mean by 
the term day-LIGHI', as distinguish- 
ed iVom tite direct light of t lie Sun. 
And this light from the Sky should 
fall perpendicularly upon the topa of 
all objects, whether the sun shine 
upon them or not. I find, in nature, 
it is //•/*• which gives thechief splen- 
dour of sunsliine, by contrasting the 
golden\\\\\\ iUc azure light ; but3oiir 
sky is so dreadfully clouded up, that, 
where the sun does not immediate- 
ly strike, every object is of a som- 
bre brown or black hue." — " By 
heaven ! you have hit it," said the 
ghost, and ran directly to call his 
brethren, and explain to them what 
it seems they Isad none of them ever 
considered (1.). 

I perceived that the party were 
thrown into some confusion. In a 
short time, however, he returned ; 
and introducing the modern critic, 
they all shook hands with him-: 
Rembrandt, in particular, seemed 
to squeeze him so hard, that I could 
almost imagine he must have felt 
the pressure. "What," said he, 
" are you the bold modern who 
dares to accuse the splendid, the 
magnificejit Rubens here, of ex- 
cluding from his dark autumnal 
shades the azure light of day !"^ — ; 
" I confess," interrupted the digni- 


tied Uuheps, "the charjjfe is just; i "Ri^lit," iiiterrupteclTeniers, "that 
i ju vrr tliDULiht oi" it, aiitl should 1 picture, yonder, of the Duke of 
have been ^hui of the hint a little ; Buckingham, of whicli the Earl of 
earlier." — " Nay, nay. Sir Peter," ,j Jersey is tlie happy proprietor, was 
exclaimed tl»e black spirit, " here it done exactly in the same way. You 
shines distinctly on the rp//erf/ort (-2.) i may see, my dear Vandyke, your 
of your Cow in the water;" and he || own faiuuritc Bronn on thcyhiV 
y)ointed tothelandscapeNo.8, from I neck of that fat goddess who y//c9, 

the collection of A.Champernoune. 

"Pray, Sir Peter," said one of 

the company, hustling forward, and 

whom I once sat to for an indiiVer- 

if I may he allowed the expression, 
before the horse's head. But I 
wonder, exceedingly, what colour 
our friend Rembrandt could have 

ent portrait, "have the goodness j! u-<ed in his il/^rsArf/ Tz/rff/z/e, whose 
to tell me your receipt for maiut- \\ temporary absence must so much 
facturing j)ictures. Did yon paint |i enliven the collection of Earl 
on a preparation of brown chia- |! Cowper." — "You may wonder," 
roscuro, or notr" — "Ask my pupil 1 said he drily, " hut I took the best 
Vandyke, sir; he knows all about | possible way of transferring iltc 
it." — "What, is Vandyke liimsell | shudesv/ the stable lo my ec^uesinzn 
here? Divine Sir Anthony, do tell i portraits, by furnishing my palette 
me the process you used in paint- | with the blaikest of the materials 
ing this sublime picture of King j I found there." — "Fie !" interrupt- 
Charles on horseback." — " Let me ' ed thecourtly Vandyke, and made a 
inform the gentleman," said Te- | slight grimace as he turned from 
niers, "I see exactly how it was 1; the picture. — " I really guessed as 
done; the jjrocess was rather cu- i much," said a little mean-looking 
rious. You must know then that 'j Dutch ghost, very much pitted with 
my friend, Sir Anthony, in his thesmall-pox, whose name neither 
erjuestrian portraits, was in the ha- j; Teniers nor Vandyke conld inform 
bit of taking his easel into the *7«- | nie of. — "Where is Cuyp all this 
6/c, for tlie convenience of the while?" suddenly exclaimed Mei^i 
horse; and, to suppUthe landscape j' nerable father (if darkness, "wiiereis 
in the back-ground, he dashed in I the miinnj Cni/p'f^'' We turned and 
the colours of the ski/ and trees jj saw him silting near No. — , in the 
upon the Ziul/s of the stable, the || trulv |)atriarcl!al and pastoral occii- 
day before the sitter was to come: il pation of liis owu Ccjwherd. "Tell 
this you uill perceive made it all [ us, Cuyp, your opinion ; wlicn yo'u 
extremely easy." — " But, the chia- ! were a landscape-painter, what was" 
roscuro, sir? the shadows. Sir An- ! the colour of the green grass, with 
thony f" — "The shadows, sir," re- li a clear blue Sky shining upon it r" 
plied that genteel Spirit, " I must jj — "A mixture of black and yelloxCy 
frankly conress, were all done with ' to be sure," said Cuyp: at which 
the colour' which yon do me the i we all bur:it out a-langhing; and 
hoDonr toname /'f/wZ/y/vV JJ7W1V/." — ' every body crowded to look at the 
♦.* My i I excellent pupil," said Ru- i celebrated [)icture of the Cowherd ; 
bens,i'<l perceive' yen faithfully :| where, sure enough, we found it; 
purgnled'^my own method." as he said. 



"But, sir,"" said my portrait- 
painter, " it strikes me that yon 
intended your pictnre to harnno- 
Viize uitli a black frame.'''' — "To be 
snre I did, my friend, and I suc- 
ceeded too. Look at No. — . The 
weeds, there, in the fore-ground of 
tiie water are perfectly black, and 
the stump of wood is precisely of 
tlie sanse colour. In fact, I con- 
ceive a forc-«rround ought always 
to be black, or at least dark brown. 
Don't tell me of your azui'e ligfif, 
it may do well enough in nature; 
there grass may be green if it likes ; 
but in pictures it is quite another 

^^>.'i confess I am decidedly of 
thkt opinion," he replied. "Put, 
for instance, one spot of th'\s azure 
light on t!;e browii side of the neck 
of ihat fying goddess, and j^ou 
would think you saw the purple 
morning sky slr.tiing through a hole 
in the canvas." — "Your satire is 
strictly just," said Rubens. — " Sa- 
tire, sir! 1 am serious. A little 
i)lue demi-tint, here and there, 
down the edge of the shadows, is 
what I have always observed in Ru- 

bens's your pictures, I should 

say, and Vandyke's; and I take 
fhem to be as good authority as any. 
I don't wish to fo/o«/' better, myself: 
I am none of your experimental 
painters, who setup for geniuses ; 
they indeed seem to think that the 
art is always j?/s/ commencing, and re- 
fer continually to nature, as if the 
principles of Art had not been long 
ago established. As to the land- 
scape-painters, with their devilish 
aerial perspective, they deal so much 
in thin mist, and are so fond of 
space, that they leave us scarcely 
any thing solid to fill it. But still 
t!)e near ohjccts have hitlierto re- 

tained some darkness and solidity: 
and now comes this universal blue 
Sky-light pouring down, over fore- 
ground and all, one faint purple 

glare, For heaven's sake, let 

Nature be Nature, but let Art be 
Art still ! However, the landscape- 
painters may be as airjj as they 
please; but 1 chuse to keep a good 
house over my head, and to my 
mind the shade it affords is perfect- 
ly congenial. It is as natural for 
one who wants his portrait to sit in 
a gloomy painting-room, as to take 
an airing in Hyde Park when his 
sitting is over." 

" Right, right," exclaimed Rem- 
brandt, laughing; " but let Mar- 
shal Turenne be a warning against 
all STABLE-PORTRAITS in future." 

" Not at all, sir; I approve of 
the effect of that picture. Why 
should not a general be painted 
going upon some secret expedition h\j 
twilight, an admiral in a thunder- 
storm'^ but neither without a punc- 
tual dischar<je of cannon in tlie 
back-ground : a Bishop, of course, 
in the gloom of a Gothic cathedral ; 
the Lord Mayor in the Mansion^ 
House; the Speaker of the House 
of Commons in that theatre of /«?(/- 
///"•//^eloquence; Ladies and their 
linen, in obedience to the proverb, 
by candle-light: so that you see 
there is never the least necessity 
for the painter of human portraits 
to represent his sitters in broad 
day-light, or out at grass, as tlie 
horse-painter is sometimes com- 
pelled to do. And after all, when 
driven to the last shift, it is oh\f 
taking a poetical licence, and then 
you may do as Jfon please^ ^Atid 
defy common sense and all tlio 
world. You may bring in day-light 
at one window, lind eirhibit blaih 



riiirlu out at another; and if it is 
not directly understood, you liuve 
oidy to whisper to a friend, that 

Alderman , whoever it may be, 

is placed in a poetical light: and 
then as to scenery, a drop scene of 
clouds, let down from the top to the 
boitoni of the picture, settles that 
at once." 

" Well, sir," said Vandyke, ad- 
dressing himself to the youn<; ama- 
teur whose remarks had occasioned 
all this discussion, " what haVe you 
to say to this poetical light that 
cpnfounds again NiGJiT with day, 
which it was the first work of crea- 
tion to separate r" — " I confess, sir, 
I am still of opinion, that the elVect j 
which the evening Sun and a purple 
Ski/ produce upon objects, is infi- 
nitely more dt:lightful and affect- 
ing to the imagination, than any 
ariijicidl vonihination of tints which 
the most elegant fancy could ar- 
range, or the most fortunate ho[)e 
to discover in the accidental hlot- 
ti/igs on the palette. Nor is it at all feared, that by admitting Day- 
light and the soft reflection of the 
Sky into pictures, the apparent 
solidity of objects would be de- 
stroyed : the very reverse would be 
the case; every thing would be 
rendered so much the more dis- 
tinct and substantial by it." — " I 
deny that, sir," interrupted the 
painter of my very flattering por- 
trait ; " the attempt has been often 
made by a clever artist of our own 
tl«^y> who used to let in the Sky- 
light, in all sorts of directions, «/?- 
wards as well as dounnards, and 
lvi& worlvs were noted for .wanting 
$plidiiy, ^lie soon, however, gave 
it upj and agreed with me, that a 
line tuust somewhere be drawn be- 
jvv;^een,4\rt.and Nature ; that our ap- 
f^'oLlViSo. XL 

prenliceship to her must have art 
end ; and that, having gained a cer- 
tain proficiency, we must set up 
for ourselves." — " I willingly ad- 
mit it, sir," replied the amateur, 
" but let us first faithfully and ho- 
nestly attend to the lessons of Na- 
ture, and not play the truant with 
her. I remember the artist you 
allude to — whose works are indeed 
replete with fine taste and elegant 
invention, and who might have been 
a splendid ornament to his country 
had he met with the encouragement 
he deserved: — I remember seeinsf 
him, however, when I was a boy, - 
painting the beautiful trees in , 
Kensington-Gardens ; and though 
they stood before his eyes in all 
the freshness of their verdure, he 
changed them in his painting to a 
hot autumnal brown. Not that he 
was insensible to their natural 
beauty, but he complained that the 
materials of his art were inade- 
quate to its representation. I 
am convinced, however, that he 
thought more at the time of some 
splendid artijice in the pictures of 
Rubens, than of the true splendouf 
ofjthe green trees glistening in the 
suji, w hose golden rays chequered 
their warm velvet shades, and 
which the mild reflection of the 
Sky served every where to relieve 
and heighten by its contrast. This 
is the true Poetical Light in which 
Nature, that great and original 
POETESS, exhibits to us the object* 
of her inexhaustible invention; 
and it involves, to a certain de- 
gree, the union of night and day: 
it gives a bright and a dark side 
to all things; the one an immedi- 
ate illumination of the Sun, the 
other softened by the milder halo 
of the Sky, which is but a reflection 
O o 


of the forraer — the Diana to that 
Phcebiis.'" — " All this is very fine," 
said the portrait- painter, " but you 
are bound to demonstrate that this 1 
NEW LIGHT will not fritter away 
all shadow, and with it all sub- ^ 
stance too." — " I am happy, sir," 
he replied, "that this is one of; 
those positions which admit ofi 
demonstration. Substances are 
rendei'ed visible, and we know 
them to be such only by the effect 
of the light which shines upon 
them. If the Sun's ray strike the 
surface of a body, we know that 
there is a surface that reflects it to ^ 
our sialit; if the dark side of this ! 
body receive some light from a 
neighbouring object on which the 
Sun also shines, we immediately 
perceive the svrl'ace on that side; 
and if the light of the Sky shine , 
down upon all bodies, it will dis- 
tinguish to us their upper surfaces, 
though not illumined by the sun, 
and thus determine their solidity 
in that direction. The ligb.tof the 
Sky has besides a peculiar quality, 
which contribnt;^s both to its beau- 
ty and utility: being in its colour 
strikingly contrasted to that of the 
Sun, it can never be mistaken for 
it; and, therefore, will eff'ectually 
cure that flimsy and transparent 
appearance so frequently seen in 
pictures whose shadows are not 
absolutely black: for an}' other 
light admitted on the dark side of 
objects is liable to be conceived as 
coming through them from the sun 
on the opposite side. It is thus 
that Nature paints the solid objects 
of sense, and thus the understand- 
ing has learned to judge of their 
solidity ; and were it not that these 
every-day appearances are little 
attended to by the world, though 

but for them no man could safely 
visit his next door neighbour; were 
the gazers at pictures conscious of 
those eff"ects of Light which guide 
them intuitively every step they 
take, how would they wonder at 
the fantastic invention of the in- 
door artist who attempts to amuse 
them with his poetical will-o'-the- 
zcisp? Should this 7ioiisensica I DARK 
LANTERN rise to light the world 
some morning instead of the honest 
SUN, I fear very little business 
would be done upon 'Change that 
day; and before night, unques- 
tionably, every bone in all our 
skins would be broken." — " Well, 
sir," said the immortalizer of my 
ugliness, *' the landscape-painters 
may possibly thank you for your 
idea; they are accustomed to wan- 
der about in the open air, and 
watch the effect of the skies ; but 
the higher clepurtments of painting, 
PORTRAIT and HISTORY, are all in- 
door zcork. Your perpendicular 
SKY-LIGHT is completely shut out 
there." — " Then, sir," he replied, 
"I would advise the historical paint- 
ers to clmse that period of history 
when mankind was all inclosed in 
Noah's Ark(3.j, for it seems to 
me quite horrible to imagine the 
WORLD at LARGE all ti/ed-iu like a 


" Be that as it may, sir, I shall 
not ask my sitters to expose them- 
selves to the cold in my back yard, 
in order that the day-light niay 
shine down on the tops of their 
heads. Nor do I believe thafe the 
historical painters will take the 
paupers from the work-house, who 
usually serve as the models of their 
saints and apostles, to roast them 
in the sun in the gutters on the 
tops of their liouses, in order that 



they may see tlic brilliant con- 
trast of the golden and the azure 
light upon their bald grey heads." 
— " Be it so then," replied the 
youth ; " let the landscape-paint- 
ers first adopt the improAemcnt. 
They have already done much for 
modern art, and one of them, in 
particular, distinguishes the age 
by the sublimity of his genius," 

*' He is the man, then," said 
Teniers; '• but if he is already so 
great, and perhaps but poorly re- 
compensed, he will hardly under- 
take the labour of fresh studies: 
yet, if you think there is any hope, 
J will visit him, and endeavour to 
urge him to one noble effort more. 
JSuch a man should pause for a 
moment, and reflect, that it is still 
in his power to add a second life, 
as it were, to his glory, by com- 
mencing again, and 7'evising the 
energetic studies of youth. How 
rapidly and successfully might he 
run over this course ! Let him re- 
turn to'the school of Nature, and 
boldly submit to her strictest ex- 
amination. He may justly appear 
before her with the confidence of 
a master, but let him be careful to 
unite with it the candour and sim- 
plicity that adorn her children ; 
the only sure foundation of that 

r " A visit from Teniers," he re- 
plied. — " No, no, there's no ne- 
cessity," interrujited Cuyp; '* that's 
not the way." — " Give me leave, 
gentlemen, to put one question to 
you," said I, somewhat hastily : 
*' Seeing that even in the other 
zcorld there are differences of opi- 
nion — however, here we seem to 
be in both worlds at once — permit 
me to ask the reason of the ilivcr- 
sil 1/ oj'sti/ici{^.) , oi'yUs they are term- 

ed, the fl/lj'ereiit rcni/s of seei/ig 71a • 
lure, which distinguish the most 
excellent artists. \\ hen I see one 
paint a hrotcn picture, another a 
(t;p?/, this a ptirpie, that a fieri/ 
oramre, and whole ages distinguish- 
ed by the black masters and the 
WHITE, I own the Art of Painting 
puzzles me exceeding!}-. Surely 

Nature " 

" Sir," said Cuyp, " if you had 
not interrupted me, I was going 
to point out a method, which, if 
adopted, might throw some light 
upon tliat subject." — " Give me 
leave," said Teniers, " to make 
one observation, which is this, that 
our appearing to see Nature ilif- 
ferently, may partly arise from our 
painting so much uithont looking 
at her', otherwise, how could this 
escaped the notice of painters 
till now? But let us hear your pro- 
ject, Cuyp." — " O, sir, I am in 
no haste. My plan is this: That 
THE DIRECTORS of this very INSTI- 
TUTION should form a COLLECTION 
of genuine studies of light and co- 
lour, taken faithfully from Xature 
itself, out of doors, under all its va- 
rious aspects ; that they should 
offer adequate premiums for such 
studies, and every year select a 
few of the best fron) such as were 
presented to them. They would 
thus form, at very little expense, a 
mostvaluablescHOOLfor the study 
of COLOURING, in zchirh the public, 
as Zi'cll as the artists, viiglit educate 
themselves in the knowledge of Na- 
ture{5.). And let me ask the great 
Rubens, if he does not think this 
would benefit the rising artists 
mxich more than continuing to ex- 
hibit the works o( us ancienfs,\\\uch, 
in their present dirty and doctored 
O o 2 



condition, I own I am not a little 
ashamed of." — " Bravo, Cuyp, 
bravo !" shouted from every one 
in the room, and the sound had 
something awful in it. — We wfere 
all, by this time, involved in pro- 
found darkness, and I began to 
feel a shuddering come over me. 
'inhere was a dead silence for about 
three seconds, wlien Teniers said 
very gravely, " Rembrandt, your 
friend the connoisseur should be 
here 7iow. What was it he said 
about the mysterious world, which 
darkness alone illumines? I like 
that fellow; but he should have 
caiTied on the idea ; he should 
have elaborated this system of in- 
verted optics, and proceeded to di- 
vide the unreal beam of darkness 
visible into its threefold primitive 

negation; and so on to " — 

^'Gentlemen,''said my never-to-be- 
silenced portrait-painter, " though 
you seem to think you have settled 
the point in dispute, and propose 
to set our landscaperpainters to 
work to establish the justice of 
your decision by the prejudged 
evidence and authority of Nature, 
I should be glad to know, in case 
you succeed, what the poor por- 
trait-painters are to do ?" — " Nayj 
not the poor,'^ said Vandyke, tap- 
ping him on the shoulder, which 
i thought odd enough in a ghost; 
and Cuyp, who observed it also, 
touched Teniers with his elbow, 
which occasioned a "eneral lauirh, 
and the poor portrait -painter 
thought it. was at him. — "Why, 
my good friend," said the lively 
Teniers, " why should this new 
LIGHT concern you? You mav 
safely depend upon the ap^^thy of 
the CITY, and even of the squares 
fit the west end of the town, to sub- 
jects of this nature; and proceed 

tS'^iiHhe whole court of aldermen 
into your^?of//fo/ lanf,ern{Q.), if you 
think proper. Recollect, for your 
consolation, that there are no 
watchmen hired to parade the streets 
in the day-time, and cry, ' Past 
twelve o'clock, and — day -light shines 
dozen perpendicularly r uv«tj(ofe 

" Discoveries of this nature are, 
in the first instance, difficult, from 
their being- wrapped up, as it were, 
in their own simplicity; a cloak 
which, contrary to the opinion of 
Tom Payne, is just of the right 
size to hide itself. But when such 
a simple discovery is once made, 
and the Columbus of the day has 
fixed his egg (7.) upon the table, 
the spectators, surprised to see it 
still keep its perpendicular direction, 
either grin or frown, as they hap- 
pen to take it, like the Spaniards 
in Hogarth's print ; — and there the 
matter ends. Depend upon it, if 
all that has been said here to-night 
were printed in large letters in xht 
Morning Chronicle to-movxmvf, it 
would not have the smallest eflfect 
upon your sitters or your prices.^^ — 
" That I would engage for," said 
I ; " for I myself, in that verypaper^ 
so long ago as the 12th of March, 
1814, attempted to disturb the;) Wr 
losophic torpor of the age, by the 
alarming assertion, that TIME and 
space (8), which have puzzled the 
philosophical world so long, are 
merely THE modes of our sen- 
sitive faculty, and are stamped 
by us upon all the things that wia 
perceive. I maintained further, that 
this position is so self-evident, that 
it is utterly impossible to conceive a 
sensitive faculty in any other way; 
and that this is the true reason why 
human knowledge is restricted, as 
we find it to be, and are. indeed 
conscious it ever must be, to obt 



jects in time and space; — and that 
all beyond those bounds is wiin- 
teliiy^ible{Q.). In spite of the un^ 
equivocal boldness of this asser- 
tion, and the extraordinary and 
indisputable fait by which it is so 
powerfully corroborated, the p/iilo- 
iop/it/{lO.) of this tndi/ Christian ac^e 
received this civil pat on the cheek 
most patiently, and on that side 
the redness still remains: it seems 
to me, therefore, a useless cruelty 
to strike it on the other, however 
fairly it may be presented for that 
purpose. And give me leave to 
ask of the great artists of past 
times — who are here present--\vhat 
is the chief advantage they expect 
to result from the introduction of 
this neiclif discovered day-liglit into 
the pictures of the moderns, and 
what tli,ey conceive to be the chief 
merit of this discovery r" — " Sir," 
said Rembrandt, " the merit of this, 
as of all other discoveries, is its 
originality ; and one great advan- 
tage which it j)romises, in addition 
to every other, is this : \tmaij open 
the eyes of those who exert them- 
selves to promote the Arts, to the 
necessity of a bold and direct appeal 
to Nature itself, if any thing really 
great is to be effected. It is possi- 
ble, that when the in-door gloom 
of our OLD PICTURES comes to be 
explained, the world may begin 
to commiserate the Arts under their 

long and dark imprisonment, and 
set free the genius of the iige from 
the restraints of AFi ectation and 
prejudice; those two ponderous 
bars, which the Connoisneurs, the 
turnkeys of the dungeon, will, it is 
to be hoped, some day or other 
quietly suffer to be removed. 

" The mnnifeat discovery of this 
great dejiciency in OUR WORKS ought 
to prevent your continuing indo' 
lent I y and b/ind/y to follow our 
steps, as zve have blindly and indo- 
lently followed, /// this re^^jiect at 
least, those who went before us. 
Such ought to be the result of this 
discovery ; it should encourage 
artists to dare to look at Mature; 
and it should teach the true lovers 
of art to require it of them, to aid 
their first feeble and hazardous 
efforts, and to protect even their 
failure horn x.\\e premature triumph 
of that fiend, who watches the first 
shoots of vegetation in every little 
earthly })arailisc, to trample them 
beneath his feet. But, sir, if you 
ask whether I am ver\- sanguine 
on this subject, certainly I am not. 
It will all c(^me about in time; — 
but before that happens, I hope to 
have the pleasure of seeing all the 
present conijjan}' in ' another and 
a better place.' " 

At this the living and the dead 
bowed respectfully to each other; 
vanished and departed. Judex. 


Mr. Editor, j sir, most unjustly branded with the 

In the hope that the age ! imputation of coquetry, folly, and 
of chivalry is not quite gone by, || stupidity, for no other reasons than 
and that you possess gallantry ' because I am very pretty, very 
enough to come to the relief of a jj rich, and possessed of a mo lerate 
distressed damsel, I solicit vour I share of common sense: I think 
assistance. I am, you nmst know, | I hear you exclaim, " and quantum 



sufficit of vanity- into the bargain !" 
Softl3% sage sir; if you are the 
man of sense I take you for, I shall, 
by a plain statement of facts, con- 
vince you of your mistake. 

I was the only child and am the 
heiress of very worthy parents. 
From my infancy I gave promise 
of possessing an uncommon share 
of beauty, which, as I was natural- 
ly volatile and thoughtless, might 
have been a serious misfortune to 
me, but for the care of my excel- 
lent mother, who never endea- 
voured to conceal from me that I 
was handsome, but at the same 
time so judiciously represented to 
me the perishable nature of a gift, 
which l)y gaining me more notice 
than would otherwise be bestowed 
upon me, would render my men- 
tal defects more glaring, and would 
iiever extenuate them in the eyes 
of the wise and the good, that I 
grew up, tlianks to her sensible 
precepts, more solicitous for the 
esteem of the few, than the admi- 
ration of the many. 
, With regard to the proper use 
of riches, my mother had no oc- 
casion to give me any advice, as 
her whole life was a practical il- 
lustration of how they ought to be 
spent. She lost my father while 
I was yet an infant, and she re- 
gretted him too tenderly ever to 
enter into a. second marriage: but 
though in a great measure dead 
to the joys of life, yet she conti- 
nued, for my sake, to mix with 
the world; and I had an early op- 
portunit}' of seeing, that, by ju- 
dieious management, it is possible 
to >-atisfy, out of a large income, 
all the claims which society has 
upon us, and yet reserve a sum for 
the relief of our distressed fellow- 

creatures, the amount of w'hich 
would not be credited by the vo- 
taries of folly and fashion. Nor 
was my mother forgetful of the 
claims which genius, too often des- 
tined to struggle with poverty, has 
upon the possessors of affluence; 
she took care that my education 
should enable me justly to appre- 
ciate those claims, and her exam- 
ple sufficiently pointed out to me 
how they ought to be rewarded. 
But I perceive that I grow very 
serious, or perhaps I ought to say, 
very dull; so, without farther di- 
gression, I shall proceed to the 
cause of my present perplexities. 

By the death of this exemplary 
parent, which happened before I 
reached my eighteenth year, I was 
placed under tlie guardianship of 
my father's aunt. Lady Dashmore; 
and as soon as my grief had so far 
subsided as to enable me to mix 
with the brilliant circle in which 
her ladyship moved, I attracted 
the regards of Sir George Glitter. 
I will not deny that the fine person, 
insinuating manners, and appa- 
rently open and amiable temper 
of the baronet, made a sensible 
impression upon my heart; and as 
1 was not then quite nineteen, I 
hope I may be pardoned, if my 
imagination bestowed upon him 
every virtue as well as every grace. 
I was not, however, so far gone ia 
la belle passion as to entangle my- 
self in any engagement; all the 
baronet could obtain was permis-f 
sion to visit me as a friend, and 
I determined thoroughly to inves- 
tigate his character and disposition 
before I discovered the partiality 
with which he had inspired me. 

For some time all went well, 
I had reason to be satisfied witk 



his behaviour, and as lie was very 
youni; aiul I heard iiothiii;^ unfa- 
vourable of" iiitu, I persuaded my- 
self that a few years would correct 
the exuberant vivacity of hi ; tem- 
per, and render him all I wished. 
I will not detail to you, sir, the 
progress of my disappointnient ; 
sutiice it to say, that a few months 
which Sir George spent with us in 
the country, proved to me that he 
was a cold, heartless being, on 
whom the distresses of others made 
not the smallest impression. He 
relieved the wants of the poor, it 
is true, principally I believe be- 
cause he saw that I was hurt at his 
not doingso in oneor two instances; 
but the ostentation v.hich accom- 
panied liis gifts destroyed their 
value in my eyes, and cruelly hurt 
the feelings of those whose neces- 
sities obliged them to accept his 
bounty. There were also two other 
traits in his temper, which retire- 
ment brought forth, that must, had 
we been united, have marred our 
happiness: he had a passion for 
high play, and a decided dislike 
to literary pursuits. It was not, 
however, in a moment that a cha- 
racter so comj)letely the reverse of 
what I had hoped to hnd it, unfold- 
ed itself, but as soon as it di 1, I 
gave the baronet a formal dismis- 
sal: he refused, however, though 
with an appearance of the greatest 
humility, to resign the hope of in- 
ducing me one day or other to fa- 
vour his pretensions ; and my aunt, 
who was very partial to him, plead- 
ed his cause most streniiously. I 
persisted, however, in my reso- 
lution, and avoided him from 
that time by every means in my 

I was soon afterwards introduc- 

ed to a young gentleman whom my 
brilliant aunt and most of her cir- 
cle pronounced a bore. Mr. Pro- 
bit, so he was named, had nothings 
very striking either in his person 
or manners: he was grave and ra- 
ther taciturn, but I observed that 
wlicnever he did sjjcak, it was al- 
ways to the purpose. As he had 
been a ward of the late Lord Dash- 
more's, he visited Lady Dashmore 
very frequently, and after some 
time I discovered that he possessed 
much literary and scientific know- 
ledge, which he communicated in 
a manner so pleasing and unaffect- 
ed, that his conversation became 
a grreat treat to me, till a circum- 
stance occurred which damped the 
pleasure I took in his company, 
because it induced me to think 
him avaricious, a vice which of all 
others I detest. A beautiful joung 
countess, remarkable for the ge- 
nerosity of her temper, produced 
one evening at my aunt's a petition 
from a poor family in the most ab- 
ject state of distress, for whom she 
solicited subscriptions : every body 
give something, and the lovely 
pleader was just putting up the 
moncv she had collected, when 
Mr. Probit entered; the countess 
immediately applied to him, but, 
to my surprise, and indeed that 
of the whole company, he refused 
to contribute to their relief, nor 
could all the bewitching oratory 
of her ladyship draw even a trifle 
from his purse. 

Vexed even more than I cared 
to own to myself at his conduct, 1 
could with difficulty behave to him 
in my usual manner for the rest of 
the evcninsr, and I accused him in 
my own mind of being even more 
deficient in humanity tiian the gay 



n awr 

Sir George. The following day I 
visited the poor family, whose di- 
rection the countess had given me, 
and I found that their distress had 
not been exaggerated: but for the 
benevolent interference of her la- 
dyship, the poor man would have 
been dragged to a prison. I found 
tliatthesum collected, with a hand- 
some addition made to it by the 
countess, was barely sufficient to 1 
pay an inexorable creditor; but 
the woman told me, that a gentle- 
man had visited them early in the 
morning, given them some money 
to supply their immediate wants, 
and promised to procure employ- 
ment for her husband as soon as 
his health, for he was then very 
ill, was restored. I inquired the 
name of this benevolent being, but 
she assured me she was herself a 
stranger to it. Some time passed 
away, I frequently called to see 
how they went on, and I found the 
benevolent stranger still continued 
his attentions to them, but I never 
met him in my visits. One morn- 
ing, however, I called some hours 
before my usual time, and on en- 
tering the house where they lodged, 
1 saw Mr. Probit ascending the 
staircase. In a moment the truth 
flashed upon me; he did not per- 
ceive me, and I waited till he had 
entered their apartment before I 
followed him. Never before, Mr. 
Editor, had I an opportunity of 
seeing what a beautifier of the hu- 
man countenance benevolence is. 
1 had always thought Mr. Probit 
rather plain, but when I looked at 
him as he talked to the sick man, 
while one of the children who had 
nestled close to his side was placed 
upon his knee, and another re- 
ceived a book, the promised re- 
ward of his having learued the task 

assigned him, I wondered that I 
had never before been struck with 
the charming expression of his 
countenance. I could not help 
inquiring afterwards why he had 
so resolutely withstood the entrea- 
ties of the countess to relieve the 
poor family for whom he had se- 
cretly done so much ; and I think, 
Mr. Editor, his answer will raise 
him in your estimation as it has 
done in mine. " The benevolence 
of the countess," said he, *' is so 
well known, that it renders her 
exceedingly liable to imposition; 
I am aware that in several instances, 
her humanity has been abused, and 
this most prohably always will be 
the case, because in giving she 
consults her heart rather than her 
judgment: now as you know, my 
dear madam, I have but little to 
give, I should, in my own opinion 
at least, be unpardonably negli- 
gent of what I consider a sacred 
duty, if I did not see that little 
worthily bestowed." 

From that time Mr. Probit and 
myself were good friends, and I 
could not help often thinking, that 
he was the man of all others whom 
my beloved mother, were she li- 
ving, would have selected for my 
husband ; but so guarded was his 
conduct, that I could not discover 
whether I had made any serious 
impression on his heart. In this 
state of uncertainty I continued 
for more than a year, and possessed 
as 1 was of beauty and fortune, 
you will not wonder that I had ma- 
ny admirers and not a few propo- 
sals; but I repulsed the first, and 
rejected the last, wliich gave Sir 
George Glitter an opportunity, as 
I have since been informed, of 
declarino; that he was certain of 
being the happy man at last. 


Am accident which endangered 
my life revealed to me at last tiiat 
the supposed indidercnce of Mr. 
frobit proceeded from a scrupu- 
lous sense of honour, and the ice 
once broken, we soon came to an 
eciaircissement, which ended in my 
conscntinj^to receive his addresses; 
much to the displeasure of Lady 
Dashmore, to whom and her " dear 
five hundred friends" my conduct 
atVords an inexhaustible theme for 
censure and commenti I am for- 
mally accused of havin;^ jilted Sir 
George, who every body says would 
have been an unexceptionable 
match for me, and of rejectingevery 

a firm member of the established 
church ; and as to the second, I 
can with truth declare, that far 
from affecting singularity, I have 
all my life studied to avoid it. The 
party who tlirow the blame on luy 
education, are, I believe, nearest 
to the truth, and as they chieHy 
consist of managing mammas, I. 
can only thank them for the kind 
pit}' I am informed they bestow up- 
on me; and hope that their well- 
educated daughters, who are so se- 
dulously taught to stifle their na- 
tural feelings, and sacrifice their 
fondest wishes at the shrine of mer- 
cenary Hymen, may never rt pent 

other suitable offer, in order to '; having received an education which 
throw myself away upon a man ;: has taught them to value so Isighly 

whose birth, fortune, and connec- 
tions are all beneat!) me. 

Some ladies attril:)uteil my con- 
duct to mv having imbibed IMctho- 

the things of this world. 

Now, Mr. Editor, having con- 
cluded uiy plain, unvarnished tale, 
I hope you will agree with me in 

distical opinions; otliers affect to j opinion, that it is a sufficient apo- 
snppose, that it sj)rings entirely • logy for an heiress of twelve thou- 
from a desire to a|)pear as unlike i sand a year bestowing her hand 
as possil)le to other peoj)ie; and a ; upon a man with an income of noc 

third class, at the head of which is 
my aunt, kindly throw the whole 

twice as many hundreds ; and if 
this should be the case, you will, 

blame on the absurd education I i by giving my letter a place in your 
have received. • t;il 1|, truly moral and elegant publica- 

Now, Mr. Editor, in reply to j tion, oblige your constant reader 
the first of these charitable asser- , and very humble servant, 
tions, 1 beg leave to say, that I am 
both, from principle and education. 

Louisa Lovkworth. 

<n\ Hi 



Among all the complaints vent- Ij age necessarily became wiser and 
ed by irascibility, perhaps none j wiser, promiiied themselves that 

are^so well founded and irremedi- 

thcir offspring must be hapj^ier 

able as mine. I suffer bitterly j than they Avere, because their 

every day from a epus^ of which I 
tiariiv tbi^i rki>t»v?|Q/2n| ,vifl|ioi, ,and for 
; which I(.caiin^t,evci^ l^lame my pa- 
■*a-ej}tSjiwhQ)fc;i»Wi5''^>iii]S that ever^; 

childr^'O ,ha^ the opportunity of 
addiugc^l^ experience of their 
parentis to their own observation. 
^. Y?Ty. .long before I had arrived 

f'^oLJhMsrJ^fy^ . 

2iii.i ^ ^'- 


at the age of maiiliood my evil 
stars began to shed their influence, 
and ere I liad entered my teens, 1 
began to find myself — yes, Mr. 
Editor, I began to find mysc-lf — 
suffering under all the sin and ig 
nominy of coming into the world 
at a period when there was an end 
to all intellectual and moral im- 
provement. Indeed, my very in- 
fant days passed in making this 
discovery, and 1 became enlight- 
ened through the medium of the 
most hackneyed truisms. Children, 
I have heard my mother say, chil- 
dren were nozc-a-days such plagues 
there was no doing any thing with 
them. ^\'hen she was a child, she 
and her brothers were seen with- 
out being heard ; but her hopeful 
babes Wv re much more heard than 
seen. I, who was even much old- 
er than my years, was taught to 
behold with horror the increasino^ 
depravity of the rising generation, 
and made to believe, that, in spite 
of the theory of pretended sages, 
we are only treading the retro- 
grade path of improvement. I read 
of so many better boys and girls 
in books printed by Messrs. Mar- 
.shall, of Alderm.anbury church- 
yard, at a time when these books 
were elegantly bound and gilt, 
which was long before juvenile 
libraries were established; and I 
found in The I'Ulage School, The 
Adventures of a, a.nd The Lrfe 
(>f Goody Tixo Shoes, such instances 
of virtue and precocity of talent, 
that I begai; to consider my mam- 
ma perfectly right in her de- 
ductions; but the depraved life 
of Master Tommy iiickathrift 
somewhat staggered me in my 
opinion. One day, however, she 
opened my eyes, and told me that 

all is not gold that glitters, by re- 
lating some of the childish pranks 
of her brother, and, among the 
rest, how he had been naughty 
one day, and as how, he being shut 
up in a bed-room, amused himself 
with cuttino' out the alternate 
squares of a red and white che- 
I quered bed-curtain, in order, as 
he said, to make windows. I re- 
member I chuckled heartily at 
! this ; but I was soon stopped, by 
I being told that this mischief had 
I some method in it, and that the 
' window experiment was the action 
I of no common boy; while my de- 
i pravity of yesterday, to which this 
was set in opposition, was horrible 
; indeed. The dreadful crime I 
i had been guilty of was this : En- 
; gaged in play with Miss Sukey 
Jenkins, a 30ung friend of my 
, sister's, we contrived 'to unlock 
I a door to a room which was in- 
tended for a new drawing-room 
by my mamma, and here the fur- 
niture was placed previously to its 
arrangement. a galaxy of 
gold struck our astonished sight ! 
Tables were piled on chairs, and 
chairs on sofas ; but the discovery 
•made by Miss Sukey, a girl of a 
keen eye, was truly ravishing: flat 
on the ground lay an immense 
I looking-glass, clearly reflecting the 
whole lieight of the room. 811 key 
liad often been with her mannna to 
I the bath; " How like it tlie glass 
j looked ! Suppose we were to batlje?" 
Delightful, ravisliing thought ! All 
was prepared; a chair was pla'c^a, 
from which my little Musidora was 
to plunge; but I fearing the gelid 
wave miirht be too coid for her 
frame, thought to try it first. Alas ! 
the mystery of Ovid's wand waved 
over me. No wave claspeU'usj but 


mamma's glass stopped my pro- 
gress; uiuler my feet its diverging 
cracks shewed themselves a thou- 
sand ways. The dreadful crash 
spared our tale. Mamma entered 
the room, once more convinced tliat 
the evil mind of man grows with 
every age, and that none but a brat 
of 178b could be guilty of the de- 
pravity which shocked her sight. 

At an age in which intellect be- 
gins to exjjand, my education was 
well attended to; but I found, in 
spite of all my assiduity, and the 

he informed at common-halls and 
conventicles, that 1 lived in a city 
to which Nineveh herself was holy, 
and that even the Queen of Sheba 
would arise in judgment against 
the town in which I was doomed to 
vegetate. What tlien does such a 
wretch as I am in this breathing 
world, I know not. I expect to 
follow my doom, and behold the 
degeneracy of my countr}'. How 
can I perform my religious duties, 
who have never heard a Tillotson, 
a Beveridge, or a Berkeley ! how 

numerous elementary books which ! enjoy the beauties of the imitative 

constantly issued from the press 
for my use, that I was not so for- 
ward in my learning as my father 
had been at the same age; al- 
though he confessed, that he had 
scarcely begun to read when I had 
been through my Latin grammar. 
If, however, he admitted that I 
knew more, he said it was less solid 
than the knowledge he gained ; and 
in every effort I made towards im- 
provement, he forced me to draw 
the following deductions: — That 
the more literature was encourag- 
ed, the quicker did human nature 
return to a state of ignorance ; and 
that having been for the last cen- 
tury arriving at a state of human 
perfection, we must now necessa- 
rily descend, in an equal ratio, 
down the vale of ignorance. 

*' Unhap|iy child of an unpro- 
piiious era!" I exclaimed: "al- 
though no Bolingbroke writes to 
shake your religitjus faith ; no 
American war impoverishes vour 
country ; no tobacco bills or revo- 
lutions di;>turb your repose, vei are 
you the victim of a thousand evils!" 
And even though Bonaparte was 
once more prevented from inva- 
dipg my uative shqre, ^till was 1 to 

arts, who exist when Kneller, Lely, 
anil Rubens are no more ! I who 
have heard of the superior excel- 
lence of Barry, Garrick, ^\'ood- 
ward, or Pritchard, can I tamely 
sit to hear an O'Neil, a Kean, a 
Kemble, oraSiddons? The merits 
of a Knight, a Dowton, and a Lis- 
ton, are forgotten in my father's 
details of a Woodward and a 8hu- 
ter. I find this to be impossible; 
and I dwell on the full-bottomed 
wig of Quin's Cato, and of Gar- 
rick's Macbeth and Othello in a 
full - dress suit of bag-wig and 
sword, with English regimentals, 
as the most unnatural, of course the 
most sublime essence of wit ima- 
ginable. The applause we give to 
a Wellington, I find is due onl}- to 
the achievements of a Marlborousli 
or a Cumberland; and our petty 
cavils at the measures of ministers 
must bow before the invectives of 
a Home, a Junius, or a Henley. 
Fain would I take up my pen, and 
ttll my brethren how ihey are de- 
generated ; but, alas! Milton and 
Shakspeare have lived before me, 
and inform me how useless is my 
exertion. Swift has hurled his in- 
vectives, and Butler lashed with 
Pp 2 



his ridicule. I have lived to be 
amused only with the idle attempts 
of people to become wiser than our 
ancestors. I smile at your Insti- 
tutions for gaining Knowledge; 
your Societies for the Encourage- 
ment of Arts, Manufactures, and 
Commerce; your Royal Acade- 
iiiies; and your exertions for pro- 
moting Morality and Religion. 
Wives are so bad now-a-days, that 
I have not ventured to take one 
of tliese harpies, though I have 
often thought they dressed almost 
as decently as the aunt Debs and 
ilie grandmanmias hanging round 
Ime; yet where shall I find one 
'-'who would work me such mohair 
• chair-seats as that on which I am 
sitting, or draw me pictures equal 
to those non-entities which my 
mamma cut out with her scissars ? 

who, like her, never shew their ig- 
norance b}- opening their mouths: 
or who iiow will come to our arms, 
the best of all possible compa- 
nions, from Mrs, Glasse's Cook- 
ery, The Housekeeper^ s yJssistant^ 
Nelson's Fasfs and Festivals, The 
Hemaitis of Betsi/ Thoughtless, The 
Lives of Jemmij and Jenny Jessamy^ 
or Mrs. Rowe's Letters?' 

Servants are nothing to what 
they were in my mother's time. 
Peaches and nectarines have not 
the flavour they used to have. The 
sun does not shine as in Queen 
Anne's days; the seasons are chang- 
ed, and every thing, and every day, 
informs me of my misfortunes ; 
while crows, choughs, and jack- 
daws scream out as 1 approach — 
Here comes the man who was boru 
too late ! 


No. XI. 

The feather'd luisbanc], to liis partner true. 
Preserves connubial rites inviolaie. 
With cold indifference every cliann lie sees, 
The milky whiteness of the stately neck, 
The shining- down, proud crest, and purple wings : 
But cnutiou«, with a searching eye explores 
The female in lies his proper naate to find. 
With kindred colours inark''d : did he not so, 
The groves with painted monsters would abound, 
Th'ambignoiis piouuct of unnatural love. 
Tlie biarkbird lienie selects her sooty s|iuuse; 
The nis;htin:;ale her musical com|)eer, 
Lur'd by the well-known voice; the bird of night, 
.Smit with hi'r dusky wings and blinking eyes, 
\1ooes his dun paramour. The beanteu\is race 
.Speak the chaste love of their pro2;e"itors, 
V\ hen, by the sprin;; invited, they exult 
In wood* ami fields, and to the sun unfold 
Their plumes, that with paternal ccdours glow. 


>■ To possess the same preferences, 
and the same aversions, is the defi- 
nition of friendship by a celebrated 
writer of antiquity: and why may 
it not be applied to loye, if friend- 
ship uith woman is its sister, as the 
song declai'es? and songs, though 
|hey too often deal in nonsense, 

are sometimes known to enforce 
the most pleasing sentiments, and, 
with an elegant gaiety, to enliven 
proverbial truths. Equality in 
rank and fortune, equality in views 
and wishes, and equality in tem- 
per, in those who form the hyme- 
neal union, afford the most certain. 



because it is the most rational, 
prospector matrimonial happiness, j 

It is a rule which ought to be I 
observed in all occurrences of life, ' 
but particuhuly in the domestic or 
married part of it, to encourage 
and preserve a disposition to please 
and be pleased. That, however, j 
cannot he supported, hut by con- 
sidering- thin;^s in a right point of | 
view, and as Nature has formed j 
ttiem, and not as our fancies or ! 
passions would have iheiu. 

There is an exclamation of a 
husband in one of the comedies of ; 
Terence, which I have read in a 
translati<jn of ihoseadmirable plays 
(for I do not pretend to understand 
Latin), which has always pleased 
ine for the warmth of his alTeciion, 
the forcible promise of his fidelity, 
and the certainty of his happiness ; 
but he does not rest his love upon 
ihe beauty of her person, the ele- 
gance of her manner, her grace, 
lier wit, or her siiperior nnder- 
standin<r and admirable accom- 
plishments, but because their tem- 
pera are the .-ame, and their humours 

I need not observe what is so 
well known to all, that a choice in 
marriage is one of the most im- 
portant considerations in the jiro- 
gressof our existence. This state 
is the foundation and chief hand of 
social life: nor can I address my 
unmarried readers on a subject 
which IS so essential to their hap- 
piness. A virtuous disposition, a 
good understanding, an agreeahle 
person, and an easy fortune, are 
objects that, as far as circumstances 
will allow, should be chiefly re- 
garded in forming the hymeneal 
union. But as it may not be in the 
power of all my female readers to 

possess, or even to liave the choice 
of, these united qualities, I would 
recoumiend them to consider their 
comparative value, and how to ba- 
lance them against each other. He 
that has fine talents, with a mode- 
rate estate and an agreeable per- 
son, is far preferal)le to him who 
is indehted for his consequence 
and im])ortance in the world to lit- 
tle else than his wealth ; lor ta- 
lents may acquire riches, hut riches 
cannot purchase talents. At the 
same time, wit and capacity are 
only estimable w hen they are found- 
ed on good-nature, antl directed to 
augment or enliven the means of 
' rational pleasure. They must have 
I ohserved little of life who do not 
' know certain ingenious men, whose 
' abilities are too often employed 
in makinjx themselves and those 
1 around them uneasy. Prone to the 
; indulgence of vanity and the love 
of pleasure, they cannot support 
; life without quick sensations and 
I gay reflections : tliey are strangers 
' to tranquillity and the calm exer- 
cise of reason ; or they are either 
elevated into an excess of enjoy- 
ment, or sink into a state of de- 
pression, or all men living, they 
are most to be avoided by iier who 
I looks for the sober joys of d'mies- 
• tic life in a husband. Soon satia- 
j ted with present olijects, they fly 
I to new acquisitions of enjoyment, 
i and run the round of pleasure, as 
the bee passes froin Hower to flow- 
I er, hut unlike that sagacious in- 
sect, without collecting sweets from 
I any of them. 

At the same time, there is a kind 

' of man, and I w ish there w ere more 

! of them, possessing hotli w it and 

sense, who reflects upon the duties 

attached to his character as a ra- 



tional being, with the eyes of rea- 
son and of honour, and who, when 
he has entered into the married 
state, must consider himself as of- 
fending against both, if he did not 
look upon Iter, who has chosen hini 
for her protector in sickness and 
health, witii the most grateful re- 
gard ; whether from that moment 
her beauty should fade, her graces 
should wither, or even defects 
should be disct)vered by her hus- 
band which had not appeared to 
the lover: such a man will think 
himself bound to supply with good- 
nature the failings of her who loves 

AVhen a lady is deliberating with 
herself whom she shall chuse from 
several of nearly equal preten- 
sions, I should recommend her to 
take the lover who has the best un- 
derstanding for lier husband. Life 
passes hieavily in the repeated con- 
versation of one who has no imagi- 
nation to enliven the several occa- 
sions and objects which present 
themselves to him, or who cannot 
strike out from his reflections new 
paths of pleasing discourse. Be- 
sides, prudence and discretion, 
domestic virtues of great value, 
may be sup])osed to form a part of 
the character of a man of under- 
standing, accompanied with a pow- 
er to correct failings and improve 
virtues. The consequence of a 
husband and wife who know not 
how to support a Uie-d-teie, and, 
of course, find it irksome, may be 
foreseen without the gift of pro- 
phecy. I myself knew a lady who 
was married merely for her beauty, 
and who consented to be so mar- 
ried merely for rank and fortune; 
and on being asked, about three or 
four months after her marriage, 

how her lord did, replied, with a 
careless vivacity, that she really 
could not tell, as she had not asked 
him the question for the last six 

It is not, I think, exalting the 
commerce of a man of understand- 
ing too high, to say, that every 
new accident or object is, in some 
way or other, made to promote the 
pleasure or satisfaction of his do- 
mestic circle. The wife of such a 
man hnds a continual feast in the 
approbation of his words and ac- 
tions ; nor can she enough applaud 
her good fortune in having her life 
varied every hour, her mind more 
improved, and her heart more glad, 
from every occurring circumstance. 
He will employ liis invention in 
forming new pleasures and amuse- 
ments, and make the fortune which 
she has brought him, subservient 
to her honour and reputation. A 
man of sense, who is thus benefit- 
ed, is ever contriving the happiness 
of her who accompanied her heart 
and hand with such an addition j 
while the fool is ungrateful, though 
he may not be absolutely vicious, 
and does not return a favour, be- 
cause he is not sensible of having: 
received it. 

I was very much pleased with 
the declaration of a clever young 
unmarried lady of my acquaint- 
ance, after we had been conversing 
in a select company on the subject 
of marriage. It was this: — " I 
trust and hope," she observed, " I 
should have so much to say for 
[nyself, that if I fell into the hands 
of a husband who treated me ill, 
he should be sensible when he did 
so: his conscience, at least, should 
be of my side, whatever became of 
his inclination." 



If my recollection serves nie with 
accunicy, it is Mr. Addison who 
observes, if the letters written by 
men of understanding to their 
wives were to be compared w-itti 
those written by men of galhmtry 
to their mistresses, the former, not- 
withstanding some inequalities- of 
style, would possess a complete ! 
advantage over the latter. Friend- 
ship, tenderness, and constancy, 
dressed in a simplicity of expres- I 
sion, reconnnend themselves by a 
more native elegance than passioti- 
ate raptures, extravagant encomi- j 
urns, and slavish adoration. If 
Flirtilla's cabinet could be search- 
ed, it is more t'nan probable, that 
the greater part of the epistles so 
carefully preserved there, would 
be disgusting to every one but the 
coquette who is flattered by them. 
Cut if Aspasia's casket was ex- 
amined, what would l)e the charac- 
ter of the valued letters which 
would be found there? 1 shall an- 
swer the que^tion by gi.ving yon 
the character of the writer of them. 
Her husband, in public and pri- 
vate, appears to have every good 
quality and desirable attainment. 
Abroad he is esteemed and reve- 
renced ; at home he is l)eloved and 
happy. The satisfaction he enjoys 
there settles into an habitual com- 
placenc}', which shints in tiis coun- 
tenance, eidivens his uit, and sea- 
sojis his conversation; and it is, in 
a great measure, owing to his be- 
ing the best and best beloved of 
husbands, that he is the most agree- 
able companion, and the most stead- 
last of friends. 

There is a sensible pleasure in 
contemplating such beautiful in- 
stances of domestic life